Five Days in the Life of Cupid
by Labyrinth01
Summary: Five times over 16 years when Brenda and Fritz were together on Valentine's day.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: **This story is being written as part of The Closer Forum's 1st Annual Valentine's Day Fanfic Challenge. It is in honor of the fact that, if the show were still on, this would be the first Valentine's Day Brenda might actually spend with Fritz instead of leaning over a corpse! **  
**

**February 14, 1997**

**Washington, DC **

Fritz Howard stood in the hallway of the DC Metro Police Department and wished it were any other day but Valentine's Day. He wasn't one of those guys who hated the holiday in fact, he was a bit of a romantic. It was just that his girlfriend, Cindy, had such high expectations for the holiday, and if Fritz didn't fulfill each and every one, there would be a minimum of one week's silent treatment followed by a tearful fight in which she accused him of being all kinds of horrible.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, reviewing the list. Reservations at a romantic restaurant: meeting her at Palena in 45 minutes, check. Chocolate: heart-shaped box of Godiva milk chocolate sitting on his desk, check. Flowers: need to be picked up on the way to the restaurant, soon to be checked. Card: _oh crap_, he thought, _I forgot to get a card_. In light of everything else he might get away with this oversight as a misdemeanor, but he didn't want to risk it. He needed to stop and buy a card on his way to dinner too, and there will probably be nothing but the really cheesy ones left. Just great.

He was scowling at his forgetfulness when his partner, Mike, walked up to him, carrying a cup of coffee he had just procured from the break room. "What's up, Fritz, you look like someone just ran over your puppy," Mike said. He took a swig of his beverage and raised his eyebrows.

Fritz shook his head. "I just remembered that I didn't get Cindy a Valentine's Day card. I have to stop on the way to dinner and pick one up, after I go to the florist. February 14 is such a pain in the butt."

"More like a pain in the wallet," he said. "Didn't you get her a huge box of chocolate too? And you're taking her to dinner? You sure she's gonna be upset over a silly little card?"

"Yup," Fritz said glumly.

Mike shook his head. "I am so glad I'm single. While you're eating your overpriced meal I'm gonna be sitting on my couch in sweats, scarfing down pizza and watching the game."

"What game?"

"_Any_ game," Mike said, and they both laughed.

Fritz lowered his voice. "I envy you your pizza and sports, but Cindy told me she got some special Valentine's Day lingerie. So if I play my cards right, the wining and dining will all be worth it." Fritz winked and nodded his head.

Fritz expected Mike to laugh, but instead his face turned serious. "Hey listen Fritz, speaking of wine...take it easy with the drinking tonight, will you, buddy? I know you and Cindy like to drink pretty heavy when you go out, but you had one hell of a hangover last week when you came to work. And it wasn't the first time. I just don't want the brass to see you like that and get concerned, you know?"

Fritz felt a blush of shame creeping over him and quickly looked away from Mike. He had been drinking more heavily than usual lately, and Cindy was all too willing to join him, and then coddling them both next day when they were hung over. Fritz knew their relationship wasn't the healthiest, there was too much drinking and far more of a focus on sex than love, but he didn't want Mike to know that.

Fritz was saved from thinking of something to say to Mike by the appearance of an unfamiliar woman walking down the hall. At first all he saw of her was the top of her head, because she was looking down and furiously digging through her oversized black purse. Without glancing up, she walked a few feet, stopped, rummaged through her bag with great enthusiasm, made a small sound of frustration, walked a few more feet and foraged again. After watching several rounds of this, Fritz heard what he interpreted as a noise of triumph as she pulled out a candy bar, slung the enormous bag over her shoulder, and started walking in a normal pace toward the elevator. Before she hit the Down button and turned her back to him, Fritz got a good look at the stranger, and he felt like the world had stopped suddenly on its axis.

She was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. She was petite, downright tiny, with long, very curly, nearly out-of-control blonde hair. She had delicate features that looked like they were sculpted by an artist who worked in only the finest mediums. But what struck him the most was, despite her small stature and almost angelic appearance, she radiated strength. This woman, whomever she was, was clearly not someone to mess with.

He elbowed Mike, who had his back to the woman the whole time she was making her way down the corridor. "Hey Mike, do you know who she is?" Fritz inclined his head toward the elevators.

Mike turned halfway around, and then back at Fritz, a half smile on his face. "Yea, Deputy Chief Pope was showing her around the other day and brought her by our office, but you were out interviewing that witness in Northwest. That's the new CIA/DCPD liaison. Brenda something."

"That woman works for the CIA? Really? She doesn't look like a spook."

"I think that's the point, Fritz. And now can you roll your tongue back in your mouth, because if you may remember, you have a girlfriend. A hot girlfriend. So please leave a few ladies for us single guys, please."

_Cindy was hot_, Fritz thought to himself. Tall and model thin, people always told them they made a beautiful couple, because they had similar coloring and were both attractive. Cindy knew she was pretty and loved to play up her good looks, wearing heavy makeup and short skirts. This woman _Brenda_, he corrected himself was dressed in a long skirt and a floral top, and had a hot pink coat folded over her arm, which had nearly slipped off and fell to the ground during her furious search of her purse's interior. She had a nice body too, but there was something unassuming about her looks. He supposed it came from working in the CIA, where drawing attention to yourself was not encouraged.

"Is she single?" Fritz asked.

"Not that you need to know, Fritz, but rumor has it that she is. She's been asked out by a ton of guys at Metro already, and she's only been here a week. I've heard, though, that she turns everyone down with a very polite Southern smile and 'thank yew.' But if a guy is persistent, she verbally castrates them and leaves them in tears. She's an interrogator for the Company, so she knows just how to bring a man to his knees."

_I'd fall on my knees for her any time_, he thought to himself. And he mentally shook himself. _Easy boy. You are dating Cindy, and you don't need the complication of a breakup over another woman. Cindy would come after you with a butcher knife. _As his brain was issuing warnings about his interest in the small blonde standing 20 feet away, the elevator arrived, and Brenda stepped on. Fritz sprang in motion.

"Catch you later, Mike," he said, and before his partner could answer, her hurdled himself forward and towards the elevator, barely squeezing through the closing doors and hitting the back wall with a "thump." Thankfully, Brenda was the only other person in the elevator, and she looked at Fritz with minor annoyance.

And she checked him out.

Fritz Howard knew he was a handsome man. He never had a problem attracting women, although he never used his good looks to be manipulative or exploit women for sex. He wasn't a player. However, he knew darn well when he was being appreciated by a member of the opposite sex, and he had to admit it never failed to puff him up a bit. And the fact that this beautiful creature was doing it, this woman who walked down the hall and made him careen into the elevator like an idiot, well, it felt like Christmas day.

When she reached his eyes, she quickly looked away and busied herself with unwrapping her Snickers bar, as if she were embarrassed at being caught staring at him. He cleared his throat.

"Hi, I just wanted to introduce myself. You met my partner, Mike Berinowski, the other day, but I was out of the office. I'm Detective Fritz Howard." Fritz smiled his best charm smile and extended his hand toward her.

She reached out and completed the shake, meeting his eyes again, all signs of embarrassment gone, her grip surprising strong and sure. "Nice to meet you," she said, in a Southern accent so thick he could have cut it with a knife. "I'm Brenda Leigh Johnson. I'm the new CIA/Metro PD liaison officer." He hated to let go of her small, sure hand when she pulled away.

"Oh, you're from the South," he said, amused at her accent. She made Scarlett O'Hara sound like a Boston Brahmin. Her Southern drawl brought to mind sweet, thick molasses and hot, swampy Southern nights where everything moved extra slow and bodies in close proximity stuck together with sweat.

"Why, you really are quite the detective," she said sarcastically.

Fritz cringed. He sounded like an idiot. _Way to make a great first impression, _he thought.

He looked at her beautiful brown eyes and felt like he was a pinned insect, the sharpness and intelligence behind them as keen as a knife. _Who is this woman?_ He was grateful they had several floors to travel, because he was desperate for a clue, no matter how small.

"I just meant, I mean, where exactly in the South are you from?" There, hopefully that was a save.

"Atlanta," she said, turning back to her candy bar, unwrapping it and taking a large bite.

"Oh. DC winters must have taken awhile to get used to," he said, trying to keep her engaged, because from the look on her face when she bit into her Snickers, he had very stiff competition from the candy for her attention. He had only seen a look like that on a woman's face in bed, and he was the one putting it there.

She shrugged.

He felt dismissed, but he wasn't ready to go yet. He wanted to hear more of that sweet Southern lilt of hers, stare a little more into those drown eyes, be the focus again of her laser-sharp attention. He said the firs thing that came to mind. "So, do you have any plans for Valentine's Day?"

Brenda stopped mid-bite, and then continued with determined movements, bringing the candy bar to her lips covered in pink gloss, taking a small nibble, chewing slowly, than swallowing. Fritz had the feeling that she was biding her time before...what? Meting out some punishment? He knew he had said something wrong, but he wasn't sure what. He waited silently, barely breathing. If he were completely honest with himself, he would admit he was a little scared.

"That seems to be a very popular question to ask to see if I have a boyfriend," Brenda said, an edge to her voice. She turned to face him, closing the distance between them so he had a hard time looking away. Not that he wanted to. "You are the third man today who asked me that."

Oh crap. She thought he was hitting on her. "I wasn't-"

"Not that you should be askin' me if I'm available anyways, because you clearly aren't," she said, with venom in her voice.

"How did you-"

"You are headin' out to Valentine's dinner right now," she said, looking at her watch. "My guess is you have 7:00 reservations but have to pick up flowers on your way, because you are empty-handed."

"What makes you-"

"The men here dress casually, and you are wearin' a suit, and from the smell," she paused and sniffed the air, "it is one you just had dry-cleaned, so you don't wear it too often. My guess is, from how expensive it looks, that it's your goin' out suit. That makes me think the dinner reservations are somewhere nice, a fancy restaurant. Which means you have a girlfriend and aren't married, because men usually don't bother to take their wives to really nice places, especially for Valentine's Day."

"That a little unfair-"

"Plus you don't have a weddin' ring on, and even if you were one of those men who took it off a lot, you would at least have a tan line or somethin'." She nodded toward his hand.

"And since your girlfriend is high-maintenance, and I am guessin' that from you havin' to take her somewhere really nice on Valentines Day when we know they inflate the prices at those places and it's just a silly, made-up commercial holiday anyways, she would probably be furious to know you were inquirin' about the datin' status of another woman. So, Detective Howard, I am goin' to do you a big favor and not divulge any of that information to you, lest it interfere with your current relationship." She lowered her voice and leaned so close to him he could smell her floral perfume. "I would just hate to be a homewrecker."

With that, the elevator lurched to a stop, the doors opened to the first floor, and Brenda Leigh Johnson turned . and walked out, leaving Fritz mute and frozen in place. Several people boarded and someone nudged him and asked, "man, you getting off or what?" This roused him from his stupor and he pushed his way through the crowd and into the first floor hallway. Outside, he could see Brenda's hot pink coat and long blonde hair swinging side to side as she walked briskly through the chilly DC evening. He watched her small form until she disappeared into a mixture of crowds and twilight, and only then, when she was no longer in his sight, was he able to think.

He had never met anyone like her. She was like a snake, with energy coiled underneath her skin, undulating and crackling, strength belying her size and biding its time until she could pounce. Her mind was a machete, whip-sharp and able to slice through him with a single blow, finding out things mere minutes after meeting that he had no intention of telling her. He was a little intimidated by her, and he found this to be strangely exciting. He understood how Ms. Brenda Leigh Johnson, with her curly blonde hair and Southern drawl, could be a lethal force for the CIA. She could dig anything out of anyone.

As shell-shocked as he was, as much as he felt he had just gone a few rounds in the mental ring and lost, badly, he was sure of one thing: he wanted more. Fritz was pretty sure that, even if he were single, and even though she found him attractive, she wouldn't go out with him. He imagined she didn't date men at work, that she believed entangling herself romantically with the men she was competing with professionally would be seen by her as a potential path to downfall, a risk she would never be willing to take And he had Cindy, and it was as Mike said, he shouldn't be looking around anyways. But he had to get to know this woman. He needed to be in her presence, watch her turn that steely mind of hers toward a problem, a criminal, a crisis, and watch it in action. He wanted to hear her voice again, with its confidence and unapologetic dismissal of him; he admired her chutzpah, her balls, so to speak. She was a whirling dervish, and although he felt a little beat up, at the same time he felt invigorated, like she had transferred some of her spark into him, and for a moment he felt more alive than he had in years.

Forgetting that he had no outercoat, he started walking towards the restaurant half-dazed, his mind filled with ways he could befriend Brenda Leigh Johnson. _I have to volunteer for the_ _CIA/DCPD Joint Task Force_, he thought to himself, replaying the scene in the elevator over again and hearing the sass in her voice as she dressed him down for supposedly hitting on her. In his mind he watched her rich pink lips open as she took a bite of her candy bar, over and over again. Candy... he stopped in the middle of the crosswalk and smacked himself on the forehead. He was two blocks from Palena and he was so busy thinking about Brenda he didn't stop to pick up flowers and a card. And _crap_.

He left the heart-shaped box of chocolates on his desk.

* * *

Brenda was three blocks away from the DCPD headquarters before she slowed her pace, her new high heels insufficiently broken in to move quickly without discomfort. She took a few deep breaths and shoved the last of the Snickers in her mouth, barely tasting the chocolate. She pulled her coat tighter and headed toward the bus stop that would take her to her Georgetown apartment.

Her first week at her new job had been...interesting. She was glad to be away from the intensity of the CIA politics, from the drama and intrigue and always being lectured on seeing "the big picture" whenever she questioned perceived injustices she felt she was perpetuating as her role as interrogator. She had grown tired of her conscious constantly whispering to her in the middle of the night, and she felt like the job had eroded something fundamental in her. She wasn't sure what that was, whether it was her compassion or her sense of right or wrong or her morality or something else intangible that had some holier-than-thou name. All she knew was that she was different than she used to be, and she felt a lot older than 30 years old. She felt threadbare, and was sure it showed when people looked at her. When Andrew gently suggested she apply for the Liaison Officer position, she knew he saw it too. She was grateful to him for stepping in and, while allowing her to save face by taking this far less draining position, Andrew also was helping her save herself. From what, she wasn't exactly sure, but she had seen men (and they were always men) who had been in the CIA during the Cold War, and there was a look in their eyes that made her blood ran cold. She didn't want to be turn into someone like that one day, soulless and hollow. So off to the DCPD she went, a fresh start, she told herself.

Her first week would have gone okay, if the men at Metro would just leave her the hell alone. At the Company, there was a strict "no fraternizing" policy, and people knew not to violate it. Well, it was violated all the time, but since it was violated by CIA operatives, they knew how to not to get caught. But a woman could send out a message, loud and clear, to be left alone or else, and men slowly backed away, afraid for their career if their advances became known to the hire-ups. And whereas Brenda had to suffer through lascivious stares and stage-whispered comments from men she came into contact with, she quickly learned a few biting words and scathing glances withered them, and they left her alone. She soon got a reputation as an ice-cold bitch, but it came along with a begrudging respect, and she learned to coexist with her male colleagues.

Now she had to start all over again and tame the boys at the DCPD, who had no manners whatsoever. She was annoyed by the inane comments the officers she met made to her about how someone as pretty as her couldn't possibly be in the CIA. Others unabashedly scanned her body and stared at her breasts instead of meeting her eyes. In these situations, over the years she had developed a cadre of scathing remarks that left the offender embarrassed, humiliated, and with their manhood called into question. Her new colleagues might call her a bitch behind her back; in fact, she was sure they would, but she bet they wouldn't be so disrespectful the next time she interacted with them. When it came down to whether to earn respect or command fear, she often went the fear route when dealing with unruly boys. Earning respect took time and effort, whereas verbally castrating a sexist pig and handing their balls back to them as they cried for their mother could be done pretty quickly. After that, she was usually given a wide berth, and no more comments were made about why a sweet Georgia Peach would want to hang out at a police department. _To show up misogynist idiots like you_, she thought.

On top of the usual sexist crap heaped on her, the younger officers were badgering her for dates. She had been there for one week and had been asked out seven times. Seven! It was like these men hadn't seen a woman in years before she showed up. She had a policy of polite refusal the first time, citing her personal policy of not dating anyone she worked with. If the guy pushed it, then went the "instilling fear" route. She could almost hear her mother in her head, chiding her for alienating so many people her first week at work. "You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar," Willie Rae had said many times. Brenda rolled her eyes every time she heard that. _Yea, well, you tend to get stuck in honey and can't get yourself out, _she told herself. _No_ _thanks._ Out of the seven men she had declined a date with, there was not one she would actually consider dating. They were all rough around the edges, loud, crude cops who would, in her opinion, never be able to appreciate her for anything but her looks. If she wanted to have a beer-guzzling boyfriend who thought a night out at Hooters was a special treat, she would have stayed in Atlanta.

But there was one man that stood out from the others...Detective Howard. Fritz. What kind of name is Fritz, anyways? He was drop-dead gorgeous, with those big brown eyes, that movie-star face, and that body, whoa, that body. She was so embarrassed he caught her checking him out, but she couldn't help it, he was _fine_. Beyond his looks, Fritz gave off a gentle, respectful air, and she sensed he was a kind person. _Gentle_, that was it, a rare quality in a profession that makes you form a hard shell to protect from all the human ugliness you are forced to look at. _ I'd like to know his secret, how he's preserved himself despite being a cop in DC_, she thought. _I'd like to get to know him. Not to date him, no dating in the workplace! But I think he would be a good work friend. _Of course, she might have scared the crap out of him by rattling off details of his personal life. She admitted to herself she might have been a little harsh. Looking at him, although he seemed shell-shocked by her Blitz attack, he also seemed...bemused. Intrigued. Could she actually have found a man who was interested in her brains and not her body? Yes, she was curious about Fritz Howard, and wanted to be this man's friend, she decided, if that was at all possible.

There was another man at the DCPD she found attractive, and she was taken by surprise by this. Deputy Chief Will Pope was by no means handsome. He was older than her, and was balding. But his confidence was incredible, he exuded power, and in front of crowds he commanded attention like a pro. His deep voice and self-assured, confident movements spoke of a man sure of himself and of his position, and Brenda wanted to study him, to learn from him. Her mind made up, she was determined to spend as much time observing Will Pope as possible. This shouldn't be a problem, seeing that he led the Joint Task Force and they were going to be spending a lot of time working together.

Brenda had reached the bus stop and was impatiently scanning the streets for a sign her bus was coming. Nothing. In boredom she watched men rush down the street carrying flowers and couples with arms entwined walking closely together dressed up for dinner. Brenda rolled her eyes. Valentine's day was so silly. It was just an excuse to sell cards and flowers. And chocolate. Oh, chocolate! Her eyes brightened. She remembered the upside of Valentine's day. Tomorrow, large boxes of expensive chocolate will be half price, and she can get herself a really nice treat.

Visions of discount boxes of chocolate creams filled her head as her bus pulled up, and Brenda stepped on, heading to her little apartment. Alone.

_**Feedback, please! And thanks for reading!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** This chapter is pretty angsty. Just remember that Cupid shoots bows and arrows. Some are bound to miss, and even the arrows that make their mark gotta sting like a son of a bitch. (Now that I think of it, that should have been my story summary!)

_**February 14, 2001**_

_**Washington, DC**_

Fritz took the stairs three at a time, too impatient to wait for the elevator. A bad feeling had snaked its way into the pit of his stomach, propelling him forward despite feeling short of breath. When he reached Brenda's floor, he stopped for a few seconds to steady himself before walking toward her office. He forced himself to smile at the administrative assistant, a young woman named Meg who always flirted with Fritz whenever she saw him. She lit up, her cherry red lips broking into a grin.

"Why if it isn't Agent Howard, Metro's best looking police officer! What can I do for you today?" She leaned toward him, her considerable cleavage showing.

Fritz nodded towards Brenda's office, which had the door shut. _Uh-oh,_ he thought. _Bad sign. _"Meg, did Ms. Johnson go home sick?"

The smile slid off her face at Fritz's unwillingness to engage with her. "Uh, no, she's in there. She's just had her office door closed most of the day. Do you want me to buzz her on the intercom, let her know you're here to see her?"

Fritz shook his head. "I'll just knock."

After three raps to the door of Brenda's tiny office, he tried the knob and found the door unlocked. Without waiting for an invitation, he turned the handle and walked in, unsure what to expect.

Brenda was standing at the window with her back to him, her slender form silhouetted in the weak late afternoon sun. Her arms were crossed over her chest, hand tightly wrapped around opposite shoulder with ferocity, as if she were trying to hold herself intact. She didn't bother to turn around when he shut the door. He stood there for a moment, studying her, trying to gage her mood.

"It's okay Fritz, I know," she finally said, her voice as thin and stretched as parchment paper. She sounded fragile, like tinkling glass, and he worried that with one more breath she might shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Oh Brenda, I'm so sorry," he breathed. And he was. No one deserved what Will Pope had done to Brenda, the emotional evisceration he had performed without getting a drop of blood on his sterling reputation. It sickened Fritz, and he felt hatred bubble up in his gut at how callously Pope had destroyed Brenda's life, and he didn't even have the decency to be honest with her.

Fritz wondered if Brenda had heard the news in as cheap a venue as he had.

He had been getting a requisition form from his department administrative assistant when he overheard her talking to Officer Wilkins, one of the older cops at the DCPD and the biggest gossip of the entire place. He was nearing retirement, and it seemed to Fritz he spent most of his time gathering and dispersing gossip throughout Metro. He was a magpie of talk, and Fritz wasn't surprised to see him sharing a shiny new tidbit with the secretaries. Fritz usually ignored Wilkins, but his words snagged on Fritz's ear when he dropped Will Pope's name .

"...this is unbelievable, ladies, hold onto your hats for this story. We work in the middle of a friggin' soap opera, I tell ya. Turns out Deputy Chief Pope walked out on his wife a couple of weeks ago. Yea, I know, no one knew, not even his secretary, and you think with lawyers calling and all, she would know something is up. He was keeping it all hush-hush, because-" Wilkins leaned closer to his audience of three 50-something women and lowered his voice- "Pope has someone on the side."

Fritz froze. _Nonono, please don't let him know about Brenda._ He didn't want Brenda's reputation smeared by police gossip, especially now that the affair was over. Fritz had to restrain himself from jumping over a desk and slapping a hand over Wilkins' mouth.

"...this is good. Turns out he's been seeing Estelle Anderson from Accounting-you know, the one with the really red hair-for the past six months, and he moved outta his house and right into her apartment. I know, huh? So much for not eating where you...well, you know what I mean. The man shouldn't be dating anyone here when he's so high up, but to be cheating on his wife with a woman from work? Come on, have a little class!"

Fritz scrunched up his eyes in confusion. Did he just hear right? Who the hell is Estelle Anderson? Did Wilkins have his information wrong? He had to, because there was no way Will Pope could have a wife and two mistresses. Could he?

"...supposed to be all hush hush. But I guess today Estelle came in with a huge diamond ring on her finger, and just couldn't help spilling the beans when people asked her who put it there. She said Will wanted to wait and pop the question tonight, on Valentine's day, but he couldn't wait. Now tell me this, ladies: how do you get engaged when you are still legally married to someone else? His divorce from Mrs. Pope-I guess I should say the _first_ Mrs. Pope-couldn't have gone through yet, hell, he just walked out on her, and he's proposing to another women? Disgusting."

_Disgusting_. Fritz could think of several other words he would have chosen to describe Pope's behavior, most of them too foul to even come out of a sailor's mouth. _That son of a bitch played Brenda big time, _he thought angrily. He kept promising to leave his wife to marry her when he never meant to, and when he met someone else six months ago and started seeing her, he still kept sleeping with Brenda. He used her while cheating on two other women, and then threw her away like a used tissue. _I am going to rip his goddamn head off_, he thought, _for what this is going to do to Brenda_.

Brenda. Fritz grabbed his requisition form and moved toward the stairs. _Oh god, she's going to fall apart when she hears this_. He thought back to two weeks prior, when getting Brenda glued back together again was like picking up shards of a cracked Humpty Dumpty. _And I was all the kings horses and all the kings men_, he mused to himself he started up eight flights of stairs.

* * *

_**January 27, 2001**_

_**Georgetown, Washington, DC**_

Brenda reached a hand out in the gathering darkness and felt around for the roll of toilet paper she had been using in lieu of Kleenex for the past few days, when she had used up the last box. She considered turning on a table lamp in her apartment, but it seemed like too much effort. Besides, there was nothing she wanted to look at. She blew her nose and resumed staring at the wall.

The ringing of her cell phone in the stillness startled her, and she was tempted to throw it through the large window in the living room so she could return to the comforting silence. She held the phone close to her face and looked at the number._ Fritz is calling again, hmm. Why is he calling me twice in one day? Someone should have told him I'm out sick. _She put the phone on Vibrate and tossed it on the coffee table, each movement feeling thick and heavy, as if she were made of lead. _Maybe I am_, she thought. _Maybe I have a lead heart and that's why no one can love me. I'm not normal_. She whimpered, pulling her knees tight against her chest and resting her head on her thighs, sinking deeper into the couch. _But I feel like flesh and blood. Why do I feel real when I'm not_?

Her existential exploration was interrupted by the shrill tone of her apartment buzzer. Her head jerked up and her heartbeat quickened, startled into action. _Who the hell is that? Could it be Will?_ For a brief second she felt hopeful and life started to flow back into her like sap into leaves, and then she realized the desperate nature of her own thoughts. _It's not Will, it's not him, he's never coming back here again, he said so himself. _Hot tears began a well-worn trail down her cheeks, and Brenda used the last of the toilet paper to wipe them away.

At long last the buzzing stopped. Brenda didn't care who had come to see her; It wasn't Will, so it just didn't matter. She untangled herself from the throw blanket wrapped around her and went into the kitchen to retrieve the paper towels, the only remaining paper product in the apartment. As she walked back in front of the sliding glass doors leading to small patio in the back, she heard a tapping sound of something small hitting glass. She pulled back the sheer curtain in front of the glass doors and saw a figure down below, throwing small rocks at her glass doors. Fritz Howard.

_What the hell? _She dropped the paper towels and yelled down, "Fritz, what on earth are you doin'? You are goin' to shatter my glass if you keep doin' that!"

"Aha! he said triumphantly, putting his hands on his hips. "I wouldn't have to resort to this if you answered your phone or your door, Brenda. I knew you were home because your car is parked back here, and this is the only other way I could think of to get your attention, since you weren't answering your buzzer or your phone. Now are you going to let me in or what?"

"Fritz, what are you doin' here?" She wasn't in the mood for company.

"Checking up on you," he said. "Now do you want to keep yelling back and forth like this so your neighbors will think you're crazy or are you going to let me in?"

"Oh for heaven's sake. If it gets you from shattering my glass door, than yes. Come around to the side door and I'll buzz you in." _And get rid of you fast_. She wasn't in the mood to talk. Or to think. The wall across from her couch needed to be stared at some more, and she was just the person for the job.

She leaned against the partially open door to her apartment as he climbed up the third flight of stairs in her building and came in to view. "Hey there," he said when he saw her, "you called in sick four days in a row, and you never do that, so I thought I come and make sure...god Brenda, what happened?" He came to a stop in front of her and was staring, his eyes wide.

I must really look like hell, she thought. She tried to muster the energy to care that Fritz, her friend and coworker, was seeing her in rumbled, stained pink pajamas, her hair matted and dirty, her eyes sore from crying. She couldn't remember when she last brushed her teeth. She sighed and said, "I'm fine Fritz, thanks for stoppin' by, now please go home."

The look of concern he wore was too much. She looked away.

Fritz lightly rested his hands on her shoulder as if to comfort her. His warm touch felt good, and he was close enough she could smell his cologne, something cinnamon and woody. As she was thinking about sugar and spices and other delicious images evoked by how good Fritz smelled, he used her distraction to turn her body sideways and push his way into her apartment.

"Hey!" she yelled, incensed. "I did not invite you in, Fritz."

"If I waited for you to invite me in, I would have been outside all night. Brenda, you look horrible. You aren't sick though, are you?" He squinted, examining her.

She sighed and closed her eyes, too weary to deal with Fritz, with anyone, and closed the door and leaned on it. "No Fritz, I'm not sick. Now will you go home?"

"Why is it so dark in here, Brenda? Wait a sec, let me..." he leaned over the wall next to her and flipped a switch, and the hallway flooded with light. Brenda closed her eyes and moaned. She heard Fritz mutter to himself, "what the hell, I hope she doesn't live like this." Brenda's eyes followed his, and for the first time saw what a wreck her apartment was. Several throw pillow and blankets were on the floor, next to dirty Kleenex and Ho-Ho wrappers. A few bottles of empty Merlot lay on their sides. Every surface was littered with glasses, newspapers, books, or something else.

It had been a rough few days.

Fritz turned his attention toward her, not saying anything this time, just raising his eyebrows at her in a way that communicated he expected answers. And Brenda was too weak to fight him.

Avoiding his eyes, she said in a voice barely above a whisper, "Will broke up with me last weekend." She felt another wave in her own personal tsunami of grief and put her hand over her mouth, shaking her head from side to side. Would she ever run out of tears?

"Really?" Fritz said. He sounded...was that hopeful? Or surprised? She wasn't sure.

"Really. And don't gloat about it, please, Fritz. I know how much you hate me seein 'Will." Brenda wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve.

"Oh Brenda," he said, moving to touch her cheek, but she jerked out of the way. She didn't want his kindness. She just wanted to curl up and die.

He lowered his hand and said, "even though I didn't like the relationship doesn't mean I don't feel terrible that he did this to you. What did he say, why now?" She looked into his soft chocolate eyes. _I could live there_, she thought. _It seems so safe. Fritz seems so safe_.

She pulled away from him and walked down the hallway and into the living room. Pushing aside a stack of Ho-ho wrappers, she sat down on her couch and again pulled her legs up tight. God, this hurt like hell. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to blink. It hurt to be alive.

She hadn't told anyone about this yet. Who was there to tell? Fritz knew about her affair with Will because after a night of way too many glasses of Merlot, Fritz's poking and prodding about the mystery man she was dating began to take their toll, and she finally told him the truth. She had feared losing his respect that night, but it was more that he felt angry on her behalf for the way Will treated her, and he was forever telling her she deserved something better. She wasn't sure anymore. She helped a married man cheat on his wife, and now she was abandoned. Seems like she got exactly what she deserved.

Fritz moved aside a sweatshirt and a pile of dirty Kleenexes and sat down next to her. Even in her misery she could admire what a handsome man he was_. Elaine is a lucky woman_, she thought. _Although if they were so happy, why is he always hanging out with me_?

She heard herself start to talk, as if she were standing very far away in the distance. "Will came over on Saturday night and told me that his wife sat down with him and said she really wanted to work on their marriage. She doesn't know about me, but he decided to go along with her, or as he said, 'recommit to his marriage vows.' So no more girlfriend. Just like that. It was over." She used the crumpled up paper towel in her hand to wipe off the fresh tears. "And that wasn't the worst of it. He told me not to wait in the wings-those were his words, 'wait in the wings'-in case things didn't work out with his wife. Will said," Brenda choked up and couldn't speak for a moment. She sobbed silently for a few minutes, Fritz's large hand resting on her knee. When composure returned, she continued he story as if there hand been no intermission. "He said that he knew things weren't going to work out well between us for awhile now, that he knew we were never gonna get married, but he didn't want to hurt me, so he didn't say anythin.' But now was a good time to let me know that, after waitin' for him for three years, we have no future together." She wailed and buried her face in her hands.

"Son of a bitch," Fritz said softly. He handed her a handkerchief.

"I am such an idiot," she choked out. "You saw it, you knew this was goin' to happen. You warned me, told me to leave him. But I was stupid enough to believe his lies, that he really did love me and was gonna leave his wife for me. Fritz, how could I be so blind?" She looked up at him. Through the tears, she could make out the anger and sadness in his face.

"Don't beat yourself up, Brenda. You trusted him. Pick up the pieces, learn your lesson, and move on."

She shook her head violently. "I can't move on, Fritz. I can't just press a button and get over him. It's not gonna be that easy. I don't think I can even go back to work and face him." The tears started a new round.

Fritz cleared his throat. "Okay Brenda, that's enough." His voice had lost the gentle, caring tone and now carried the authoritative baritone she heard him use with suspects. "You are not going to give that asshole the satisfaction of seeing you a wreck. You have got to pull yourself together."

"Don't call him an asshole," Brenda said weakly.

"Oh Brenda, you need to stop this," Fritz said forcefully. "He used you and dumped you, and now you're defending him? You have given that bastard-and don't tell me not to call him a bastard-way too much power over you. And it's time to take it back. And I'm going to help you."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Fritz. I'm tired and am not in the mood for a rallying speech right now. Will you please just go home? I appreciate your concern for me, I really do, but now that you see I don't have Ebola, you can go now. Go on, shoo." She waved toward the door, hoping he would take her non-hint.

He crossed his arms and shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere, Brenda. You are going to pull yourself together, and I'm going to help you, whether you like it or not. You can't give Pope the satisfaction of seeing you all broken and mopey over him, you just can't! I'm sure he's really getting off on the fact that you've been out of work for four days. No, you are going to come back to work tomorrow, looking beautiful, with your head held high, like you don't have a care in the world."

The very idea of getting dressed and having to be functional, let alone be around Will, was overwhelming. "Or how about this: you go home and I just lay here in a curled-up ball for the next 50 years? I think that's a much better plan."

He stood up, and Brenda was hopeful he was finally going to leave. "For the last time, Brenda, I'm not going anywhere. I am spending the evening with you, getting your life back on track. And that can't happen with you looking like this-" he waived his hand up and down her body "-and your apartment looking like this." He waived his hand in the air. "We are going to do some serious Spring cleaning tonight." She opened her mouth to protest. "And whatever you were about to say, just forget it. This is tough love, and you will thank me for it later. Now, we need to do the most important step in your healing process first."

"And what's that?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Get you in the shower."

Brenda was introduced to two new facets of Fritz Howard that evening: his bossy, take-no-prisoners side, and his neat-freak side.

Not that she would admit it to anyone, especially him, but it felt good to have someone take control. She felt so lost, so boneless, marinating in her own misery, that she could barely stand. Listening to Fritz's orders and following them was so much easier than thinking for herself. And as the evening wore on, the activity, the comfort, and the bits of her life that were getting cleaned up and arranged all conspired to make her feel just a little bit better.

Fritz found a couple clean towels in her linen closet and shoved her into the bathroom, then told her to get dressed. After much tantruming, Fritz managed to get her out the door and to a small casual Italian restaurant in her neighborhood, where he insisted she eat at least half of her plate of pasta. When she reached for the wine list, hoping for a couple of glasses of Merlot to dull the pain of whatever Fritz had in store for her, he grabbed it away before her hands made contact. She looked at him and he slowly shook his head no. "I saw four empty bottles of wine on your living room floor," he said simply. "You've had enough." Brenda had to bite her tongue to stop herself from commenting on how much she had seen him drink a couple of times when they were out, but she stopped herself, and instead concentrated on eating the huge amount of ravioli in front of her she wasn't hungry for.

Afterwards it was a trip to the grocery store. Apparently Fritz had taken an inventory while she was in the shower and found her larder quite bare. He went up and down each aisle and after the first two, stopped asking her what she liked and didn't like, as all he got in response was noncommittal grunts. Brenda perked up only when they went down the Snack aisle, and she grabbed several boxes of Ho-Ho's and Ding-Dongs. Fritz didn't say anything, just smiled indulgently at her.

Brenda thought the whip was done being cracked when they returned to her place and brought up the groceries, but she was wrong. Fritz ordered her to bring out her dirty laundry, and had her start a load while she went on her next task, cleaning the bathroom. When she emerged 20 minutes later, complaining about what a clean bathroom has to do with recovering from a broken heart, he saw Fritz was busy in her kitchen. He was simultaneously cooking a beef stew, roasting a chicken, and making a large pot of vegetable soup, all so she could have plenty of home-cooked meals for the next week. He fussed over her, saying she had lost weight and had to eat more than just sweets. Brenda stood at the entry to her kitchen, watching Fritz multitasking, all for her, all because another man broke her heart.

Her moment of tenderness towards Fritz was shattered when he saw her idle, ordered her to check on the laundry, and then instructed her to move her cleaning efforts to her bedroom and living room. She surrendered and spent the evening washing, vacuuming, folding, picking up, and doing whatever else Fritz told her to do. By 10pm, her apartment was gleaming, she had a refrigerator and freezer full of meals, and all her clothes were clean.

Most importantly, she felt so much better.

He was right. She wasn't going to give Will the satisfaction of seeing her reduced to a blubbering mess. She was stronger than that, better than that. She had seen some horrible things with her time at the CIA, faced horrible people. And at the Metro police, she dealt with criminals who called her every filthy derogative name for a female ever invented, and she didn't bat an eyelash. She could face anything or anyone, including a balding, middle age man who had used her and fed her with lies and promised her a future he knew would never come. He shattered her world, but all Will would see was the exterior of a woman who was moving on.

When Fritz was gathering himself to leave, Brenda laid a hand on his arm. "Hey Fritz, I just want to say thank you. I know I've been a little challengin' this evenin'-" she ignored his snort of laughter at her understatement- "but you were right, I really do feel better. And my apartment has never been this clean!" She felt herself smile, her facial muscle aching from disuse.

"My pleasure," he said, and smiled, and he looked even more like a movie star then normal. Brenda felt a warmth rush low in her belly. _What the hell was that_, she wondered.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had flung herself in his arms, hugging him with all of her strength. His body stiffened at first contact, and then relaxed against hers, and he wrapped both his arms around her petite frame and squeezed back. "You are such a good friend to me, Fritz Howard," she whispered fiercely. "I am lucky to have you." She felt close to tears again, and she didn't know why.

Fritz let go first, but not before he planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. He looked down at her in his arms, and for a second a shadow, crossed his face. He stepped back and Brenda's arms fell to her sides. He cleared his throat.

"You are welcome, Brenda. That's what friends do for each other. Now, you are getting a 6:30AM wakeup call tomorrow morning, okay? Answer your phone or I am driving over here and dragging you out of bed."

She raised her hand in surrender. "I promise, I promise. I'm settin' my alarm, but go ahead and call. I'm goin' back to work tomorrow no matter what. I can't stay on the couch the rest of my life, although that sounds temptin'."

Fritz nodded. "You sure you don't want a ride? I practically drive right by Georgetown every morning, I could swing by..."

Brenda furiously shook her head. "Fritz, I have to get back in the swing of things. Go ahead and call to make sure I'm up, and then I'm gonna take the bus, or walk if I have time, like I always do. I have to make things as normal as possible." .

He left then, and Brenda brushed her teeth and went to bed, hoping the familiar rhythm of routine would soothe her turbid soul like a rocking chair does a newborn.

Brenda was up long before Fritz's 6:30 wakeup call. She had a cup of strong coffee in one hand and a straightening iron in the other. Generous use of Visine, undereye cream, and cover-up stick had made her eyes almost look normal, and she was carefully applying the rest of her makeup. She was going to look as good as possible when she saw Will, to remind him of what he gave up.

There was a 9 o'clock meeting of the CIA/DCPD Joint Task Force, and both Fritz and Will were already seated when Brenda walked in. She smiled brightly at the room with bright pink lips and said cheerily, "good mornin', gentlemen," as she removed her pink trenchcoat slowly, commanding the attention of every man in the room. She was wearing a black tweed tulip skirt that hugged every curve and ended at her knees, coupled with a matching form-fitting black blazer. A silk fuchsia shirt underneath the suit and matching heels completed the outfit. Her makeup was flawless and her long hair was stick straight. She looked every inch of the brilliant, up-and-coming, former CIA-interrogator-turned-criminal-investigator. She looked at Fritz and he gave her a subtle thumbs up and smiled.

She stole a glace at Will, who was dabbling freshly-spilled black coffee off of his shirt and cursing softly under his breath as he stared at her. _Screw you_, she thought smugly, as she took her place next to Fritz.

At the conclusion of the meeting, half the attendees had streamed out of the room, but Fritz was still next to Brenda, packing up his suitcase, and Pope had just finished a brief exchange with one of his subordinates. Brenda reached into her bag, pulled out a handkerchief, handed it to Fritz, and said in a stage whisper, "you left this at my apartment last night." A small smile played at the corner of her mouth as she turned around and walked out of the room, passed a red faced, sputtering Will Pope.

* * *

_All the king's horses and all the king's men/couldn't put humpty back together again. _Fritz stared at Brenda's back, his mind still thick with images of Brenda the night he found her locked in her apartment, disheveled, near-hysteria and living in chaos, and he wondered how much worse she would get at this news. How much worse _could_ she get? A complete mental breakdown? Fritz could barely stand to see her in so much pain that night at the apartment, and news of his double betrayal was so much worse. And the question was, if he were being honest, did he have the strength to keep being her rescuer when he was secretly in love with her? Where does friendship end and ulterior motives begin?

At last Brenda turned around to face him. Her eyes, surprisingly, were not bloodshot, and the makeup around them was undisturbed. Did she hear the same news he did? He had to know before he accidentally said something wrong.

"So Brenda, you know about Will...and filing for divorce...and..."

"And Will proposing to a woman who works here. Yes, I heard all of it. And my source was excellent." Her tone was flat, unreadable. Her eyes drifted away from his and she turned toward the window again. "After lunch a woman with red hair whom I had never met came to my office and stormed in. She then told me that Will had walked out on his wife a few weeks back and proposed to her, I think she said her name was Estelle, and I had better stay away from Will, because I was nothin' but a cheap Southern tramp." He let out a strangled, half-hysterical cry.

"Oh Brenda," he breathed, moving toward her. She held out a hand to stop him. "No, Fritz." She shook her head. "I am usin' every ounce of willpower to hold myself together at this moment. Any gesture of kindness might make me let my guard down, and I'm afraid I'll fall apart. And this time, I think it would take more than Italian food and a clean bathroom to put me back in workin' order." She chewed at her lower lip.

"Is there anything I can do, anything at all? Let's go out after work, Brenda, somewhere casual so we can talk. It doesn't have to be about Will, we can talk about anything. I don't think you should be alone tonight." _God, that sounded like a come-on._ He cringed inwardly.

She smiled and shook her head. "Fritz, you must realize what day it is, don't you? Didn't Elaine-"

"_Cindy_-"

"Sorry. Didn't Cindy give you the annual checklist of everything she wanted done for Valentine's day? I'm sure it included dinner at the most popular restaurant in DC. You don't have time to hang out with me tonight. I'm pretty used to being alone on Valentine's Day, cuz will was always with his wife. Not that I cared anyways, cuz it's just a made-up, stupid, commercial holiday." Her voice was tinged with bitterness.

Fritz shook his head. "I forgot to mention this to you. Cindy and I are on a break. She's really mad at me for...something." _Yes, being caught making out with your girlfriend's best friend because you were completely smashed, that certainly is something_, he thought. "Lucky me, that means no expensive dinner out tonight. So if you don't have plans, let's do something casual and tacky, like go out for pizza and beer."

"And ice cream?"

Brenda had a way of touching him with the smallest gesture, a look, a smile, the turn of a phrase, something that, for a split second, showed her vulnerability. Although he'd seen a lot of her vulnerably lately, his heart lurched at her childlike, 'and ice cream?' In his mind's eye, he could see a young Brenda saying that to her mother, and he ached to know her, past, present, and future, so much more intimately than he did.

_Will Pope walked away from her, from this brilliant, beautiful, complex creature,_ he thought angrily. _And I would give anything in the world to have her_. I _would treat her with the love and respect she deserves. And maybe once she heals, I can get the chance._ A small seed of hope was planted deep within Fritz, and although he felt guilty for harboring such a thing in light of Brenda's suffering, there it was, growing on its own volition. _Some day, it seemed to say. Some day it will be your turn_.

"And ice cream," he answered with a smile.

Brenda watched as Fritz left her office, his promise to return at 6 o'clock to pick her up for dinner still hung in the air. She didn't feel like going out for pizza, not really, but she knew if she went home too early, she would put on her sweatpants, drink a bottle of Merlot, eat a box of Ho-Ho's, and start blubbering, and who knows when she could pull herself together this time. Better not to fall apart that badly in the first place. Her new strategy was to stay away from home, work as much as possible, exercise whenever she can stand to do so, and never let Will see a chink in her armor. It was Fritz who drove the necessity of the last point home on him. He was her hero, her rescuer. He pulled her back from the abyss and she kicked and screamed the entire way. The man should be canonized.

She sat down heavily in her office chair, her bones aching, her head suddenly too much for her body to support. She let it fall in her head and rocked it back and forth. She was in shock, she was sure. How could anyone process the news that her lover had not one, but two other women in his life? That he met someone else six months ago, and instead of ending it with her, continued to see both women. And he chose that bitch over me. So high school, but wasn't she prettier, held a bigger job, and, after having Estelle Anderson yell at her, Brenda reached the conclusion she was nicer too. _What made Will choose her over me_? Brenda had the feeling she would be asking herself that question for a long time to come. There was only one person who had the answer to that, and she wasn't about to ask _him_.

How had her life come to this, to be such a mess that just a couple of weeks ago, a man had reduced her to hiding in her apartment for days, wishing she were dead. It wasn't that long ago when she had everything under control. She was one of the CIA's best interrogators, and she got to travel the world and get involved in situations right out of John Le Carre books. Sure, it was utterly exhausting and he had no personal life, but the work was exhilarating, and she got buzzed from the nervous energy of sleep deprivation and too much coffee. She thrived on the chaos and conflict. Yes, it was eating her away, and the change to being the Metro PD liaison officer seemed like it was a good idea. The job was fast-paced with long hours, just the way she liked it, and it held her interest. All was fine until she woke up in the middle of the night and found her boss, Will Pope, in bed next to her, and she thought, _Brenda, what the hell are you doing_?

_How ironic that he CIA officer got involved in an illicit affair_. It's as if she couldn't have a relationship with a man unless it had some element of danger and intrigue to get her romantic and sexual juices flowing. How crazy is that? She shook her head. She wasn't going to punish herself by over-analyzing. There just wasn't any point. If she was an adrenaline junkie, well, that' who she is. She decided early on never to apologize for the women she is, and isn't. _So screw Estelle what's-her-name_, Brenda told herself, slamming her hand down on her desk. _And screw Will. I will deal with both of them the way I want to_.

She had been hatching a plan since the day after Will had dumped her. Through the haze and choking pain, she heard a small voice in the back of her brain, and it promised balm to her wounds, it promised salvation, it promised escape from the mess she found herself in. _That's it_, she told herself. _The decision is made, because there is no other decision to make. As soon as I can find a job, I'm moving back to Atlanta._ A small morsel of comfort settled in her bruised heart, and she breathed, really breathed, for the first time since she got the second wave of bad news.

_Everything's gonna be alright. I'm going home._

** Review, pretty please! They keep me going. A few words will do. Thanks in advance.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Notes: **_Many thanks to the folks who reviewed the last two chapters. I'm like a little kid on Christmas day when I get a review. Yes, you have that type of power over me!

I realized that I am a couple of years off on my dates. According to the show, by the date I used in this fic, Fritz already lives in California. Oops! When you look at the dates, please suspend your disbelief.

This is another angsty chapter, but if you love backstory, here is another chunk of it for you.

_**Atlanta, Georgia**_

_**February 14, 2003**_

Fritz Howard was nervous. He crossed and uncrossed his legs and checked his watch for the umpteenth time. The seats in the bar at the Hyatt weren't very comfortable, but Fritz knew he would be antsy even if he were sitting on a thrown. He downed the last of his drink in one gulp.

A pretty waitress came up to him. "Would you like a refill, sir?" she said brightly.

Fritz looked hungrily at his recently drained Scotch and soda. He would love another one. A few more, actually, but he wanted to be sober this evening. He knew he could act like an ass when he was drunk, and he wanted to be on his best behavior this evening.

"No, thanks. Just a seltzer with lime for me," he said.

The waitress has turned around and was walking back toward the bar when Fritz thought of something. "Wait!" he called out. "Bring a glass of Merlot, please. A big one. The very best you have."

Brenda would appreciate having a glass of wine waiting for her, especially after a busy day at work. He had talked to her at noon, double checking that she was still able to meet him for drinks, and she assured him that no matter what, she would be at the hotel bar at 7PM. She sounded excited to see him. Was he reading too much into things? He didn't think so. He hadn't seen her in a year in a half, and a lot can change over that amount of time. _Of course, not much had changed for me_, he thought. _Still at the DCPD, still drinking too much. Still on and off with Cindy. Off at the moment, thank god._ He appreciated Cindy's sense of timing, he really did. This was the second Valentine's day where Cindy has hasn't expected Fritz to play the perfect boyfriend. Of course, that's because someone else was playing that role, someone with a lot more money. He should feel a lot angrier about Cindy's proclivity to cheat, and the joy she took in getting drunk and sharing all the details with Fritz, but he just didn't care all that much. What he did care about, though, was getting to see Brenda again.

When he got the e-mail advertising a conference on the psychology of serial killers featuring a case study of, appropriately, Wayne Williams in Atlanta, Fritz made an articulate argument to his Captain about why it was critical he should go. He bought it and agreed to pay Fritz's way, which his partner Mike found wildly amusing.

"Nice, Howard. Way to screw over the DCPD on your way out the door. Not only are they paying your way for a bootie call, you're quitting on them!"

"Shh," Fritz said. "First of all, no one knows I got accepted into Quantico, and I'm not giving notice for a few months, so will you keep your voice down? And second, it's not a booty call! Yes, I am going to see Brenda. She's my friend. And now that she's single and over Will Pope, if anything should happen, well..." his face broke out in a grin. "Who am I to say no?"

Who was he to say no, indeed? His waitress came and sat his drink down, and placed a large glass of Merlot opposite of him. He got a whiff of the red wine's heady aroma, and it brought to mind a thick Southern drawl and long blonde hair and chocolate.

Sweet, sweet Brenda. He had been waiting for this moment ever since Will Pope dumped her. He had bided his time, being a good friend and comforting her, not wanting to be her rebound guy but the real thing. Did he wait too long? Many a drunken night started out with him asking himself that question. He thought everything was going well, that Brenda was slowly coming back to life, and then she dropped a bomb over dinner: she was moving back to Atlanta. She got a good job at the Atlanta PD, and she would be living with her parents until she could find a house. She was leaving in a month. She didn't tell him until it was a _fait accompli_ so he wouldn't try and change her mind.

That night, he put two rounds into his car in a drunken rage.

He called her often after she left, and she seemed glad to hear from him. But as she got busier at work, his calls got answered with less frequency, and so he tried e-mail. That worked much better. She responded to about one out of every three messages, so the connection didn't whither. She was tightlipped about her life, but from what Fritz could tell she was following the pattern she had developed before leaving DC: work all the time and have no personal life. Within nine months of moving to Atlanta she was given the rank of Captain and was second in command of Atlanta Homicide. _With such a high murder rate, she had a lot to lose herself in_, Fritz thought.

He sipped his seltzer and looked at his watch. 7:06. She was late, but that wasn't unusual for Brenda. He fidgeted again, eager to get the evening started. Because he very certain about how he wanted it to end.

Mike was right. Tonight was about seduction.

He was single, at least at the moment, and she was single, and it was Valentine's day. He had been head over heels in love with her for six years, and he knew she found him attractive. To grease the wheels, he brought a large box of Belgian chocolates to give to her. He heard chocolate was an aphrodisiac, although he liked to think that Brenda found him attractive enough not to need one. A bottle of chilled champagne was waiting for them in his room, a perfect place to move their meeting to later on in the evening when they wanted things to be a bit more... private. He had paid extra money above what the DCPD stipend for a hotel a nicer room with a king-sized bed and a view of downtown Atlanta. He wanted this seduction to go as beautifully as it could, because she deserved only the best.

God, he wanted her. He spent way too many times in bed with Cindy fantasizing about Brenda, thinking about her pale skin, her petite frame that fit so perfectly in his when they've hugged, her generous breasts, and those lips, oh those lips. He could hardly wait to taste those lips. He wasn't even sure he's be able to move beyond kissing her, they were so inviting. Then again, so was the rest of her.

He was so busy fantasizing about Brenda that he didn't see the real life women standing in front of him.

"You gonna stay in la-la-land all day our are you gonna say hello?" she asked, sounding amused.

Fritz instantly snapped to attention. Brenda stood in front of him, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. She was dressed simply in black pants and a red sweater set. She had small gold heart earring in her ears. He long blonde hair was extra curly, and her candy-red lips wore a smile. And oh, those eyes of hers.

He stood up and grabbed her, squeezing her so tight she omitted a small "oh!" of surprise. She smelled faintly of lavender and peaches, and Fritz had to resist the urge to bury his face in her neck and revel in her scent. After what seemed like too short a time she said, "Fritz, you have to let me go. I can't breathe!" He released her, both of them laughing.

He gestured at the table and she sat down across from him. Her eyes lit up when she saw the glass of wine. "Oh Fritz, thank you for orderin' this. Now here is a test of how well you remember me. What kind of wine did you get?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Merlot," he announced with a flourish.

She nodded. "Very good! It's nice to see I may be out of sight, I'm not out of mind." She took a sip of wine and closed her eyes. "Ahhh, just what I needed.'" She set the glass down. "Just tell me one thing, Fritz, before we get busy catchin' up."

"Anything, Brenda." The old familiar glow he had when she was around was coming back. He felt his blood singing in his veins, his nerves coming alive. _How can one woman have such an affect on me?_ He couldn't stop himself from grinning at her.

"Exactly what is the purpose of those chocolates you have sittin' there? I was just kinda curious. I thought maybe you met some good-lookin' woman on the plane and were gonna woo her tonight, and I was just takin' up your time." She cocked her head to one side and gave him her patented "adorable" look.

_I am wooing a beautiful woman,_ he thought. _But I didn't meet her on the plane_. He picked up the box and handed them to her. He had bought them in the gift shop of the hotel, and had debated for a long time whether or not to get the heart-shaped box or the regular box. He finally decided, after standing in front of the candy selection for so long that the clerk was watching him warily, Brenda would prefer the plain box, since she thought Valentine's day was silly.

He obsessed for nothing, He could have brought the chocolates to her in a brown paper bag and she would have been happy. He blinked and she had torn off the bow and the cellophane, and was biting into a coconut creme with gusto. He watched the ecstasy on her face and wondered if she looked like that during sex. _That's my goal, to make her look as happy as she is when she eats chocolate._ He bit back a laugh_. Setting my sexual bar pretty low, aren't I? Now I am competing with a chocolate bar._

Brenda finished her second piece of candy before offering the box to Fritz, and then reluctantly put the lid back on. "Thank you so much!. If you are goin' to shower me with chocolate and wine, you can come to Atlanta anytime!"

"Is that the way to your heart?"

"The most direct route, yes," she said, and Fritz felt himself grow warm. _ Is she flirting with me? I can't tell.. Take it slow, Fritz, but not too slow. _

"Now Fritz, tell me all the gossip at Metro. And catch me up on what people are doin', the ones I like I mean, startin' with Mike."

Fritz interpreted this as "don't tell me anything about Will Pope." Fritz was glad she didn't ask about him, because he didn't want to be the one to tell her that Will and Estelle were expecting their second child in the spring. Or that Will's career continued in an upward trajectory despite widespread disapproval of his affair with Estelle. It would be hard for Fritz not to editorialize that every time he saw Will he fought the urge to put his fist through his face for being a cheating liar and for treating Brenda so badly. It took more control than Fritz thought he had to interact with the man and not slam him up against the wall and scream at him, "she left because of you." Fritz had no doubt that if Will had just broken up with Brenda, she would have eventually recovered and stayed in DC. It was the insult-to-injury affair and marriage to Estelle Anderson that pushed Brenda over the edge, and pulled her back home to Atlanta. Seeing Will in those six months after the affair ended and before she left were torture to Brenda, and she told Fritz once she dreaded seeing Will with Estelle at the next DCPD function. Luckily for her she had run away before that happened.

When Fritz had finished telling her all he could remember about the goings on at Metro, and his plans for joining the FBI in the fall, he asked her about Atlanta Homicide. She had arranged for Fritz to spend the day with her on Friday, when there was only a half-day of the conference left that he could easily skip. He had really missed seeing Brenda in action. Her mind was as beautiful as the rest of her, and he loved to watch her take a clue and turn it over and over in a head like a child doe a seashell on the beach until she reached some conclusion, gleaned information about it no one else had, saw another piece of the puzzle she then snapped into place. She was brilliant, and Fritz was always a more than a little in awe of her.

While she talked about her cases, he had a chance to study her. Up close, her noticed that, although she was still beautiful, she looked older. She had a tightness around her eyes she didn't have in DC, and she looked tired, like a medical student or new mother. Most notably different, however, was that the energy the undulated just beneath the surface of her skin how had a nervous quality to it, like someone just returned from war. He was pretty sure he could sneak up to her and say "boo" and she would jump clear out of her seat. Was this Will Pope's handiwork? Was this more tense, wary Brenda a result of Will's treatment of her? He hated the idea of that asshole permanently altering the terrain of her psyche, tattooing his abuse on her character. And if this wasn't vestigial of her affair with Will, where did this new edginess come from?

The waitress came and offered Brenda a refill, which she gladly accepted. She then prattled on about the hotel's Valentine's Day dinner special, assuming the two of them were a couple. Brenda listened politely and then reinforced her wine order with a tinge of impatience in her voice, turning back to Fritz.

"You are in the spirit of the holiday, Brenda." Fritz said. "Wearing red, and those heart-shaped earrings. I thought you hated Valentine's day."

At their mention, her hand flew up to the small stud earrings, and Fritz caught a flash of gold on her hand. On its way back down to rest on the table, he grabbed her left hand and stared at it. _No. It can't be_.

"Brenda, that looks like a wedding ring," he said, trying to sound light, but his throat closed up on his words. She wore a very thin, plain gold band on her ring finger. "You are going to chase away potential boyfriends with this ring."

She pulled her hand away and fingered the ring. "Well, actually, that's somethin' I was gonna tell you..." her voice trailed off and she turned her head to stare into nothingness.

"Tell me what?" He knew the answer, it was right there on her finger, but he was going to embrace denial as long as he could. _This isn't happening._

"I, um, got married." She stared at his ear, unable to make eye contact.

Fritz felt like he was going to be sick. Not sick at his stomach. Soul-sick. Like he was going to crack open and ooze disappointment and longing and loss and a hundred other dark things within him he didn't have a name for. _This must be what a broken heart feels like, _he thought_._

"You. Got. Married." He could barely get the words out. "When? I didn't even know you were seeing anybody!"

The waitress brought another glass of wine, and Brenda practically grabbed it out her hands, taking a giant gulp. She wiped the excess away with the back of her hand and said, looking intently at the rim of her glass, "a year ago."

Now Fritz was angry. "You got married an entire year ago, and you never told me? Brenda, why? Why, why would you keep this a secret? And who is this guy anyways?" His words were tripping over each other.

Brenda shrugged, trying to act casual, but he knew he was putting her on the defensive, a place she never liked to be. "It just never came up in conversation, is all. It's no big deal, Fritz." She reached over and started to reopen the chocolate box, and then changed her mind, instead playing nervously with the discarded ribbon.

_Brenda is married_. His brain couldn't wrap around that concept. His heart was too choked to think. Something, though, about her time line, was off. Married the year before, but left DC a year and a half ago... Fritz did the math and didn't like his conclusions. "Brenda, you said you've been married for a year, but you've only been back in Atlanta for 18 months. So what, you only dated this guy for 6 months before you married him?" Fritz sounded incredulous. Could this brilliant woman really be so stupid as to actually marry on the rebound?

"I've known Hart since I was a little girl," she said, and Fritz knew he was on the edge of making her angry. He had to tone it down and not sound like he was accusing her of anything. "He's the son of my Mama's best friend. He's a few years older than me, but he used to ask me out in high school all the time. And in college, every break I came home for a break, there was Hart, sniffin' around." She laughed, but it rang hollow.

Fritz said nothing. He just stared at her.

"This time when he came by and asked me out, right after I moved home, I finally said yes." She looked at him, met his eyes for the first time since he noticed the gold band on her finger, and he saw an edge of desperation in them. _She's angry at me for grilling her yet she wants my approval, _he thought_. I can't keep up with this woman._

"What does he do?" he finally asked.

"He's a contractor," she answered, and appeared to relax a bit. "It's a good job, he's pretty busy most of the time." She got a strange look on her face, then reached across and grabbed Fritz's wrist. "He makes good money, and he's so different from-other men I've dated." She can't even say Will's name, he thought. "Hart is really attentive, bringin' me dinner at the station all the time, doin' nice things for me. It's a welcome change, to be the center of someone's attention." She looked at him, almost pleading, as if in need of his benediction.

"Do you love him?" He asked softly, looking at her tiny white hand on his wrist.

She jerked away from him as if he were on fire and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "He's a good man," she said sharply. "He's there for me. He pays attention to me." Again, she couldn't meet his intense gaze.

"That's not what I asked, Brenda. I asked if you loved him." Fritz knew the answer to her question, it was there in her posture, loud and clear in every word she didn't say. _Oh Brenda,_ he thought, his heart now aching for her instead of himself. _You married someone only because they weren't Will Pope. _

Brenda opened her mouth to answer and her cell phone rang. She bent down to dig it out of her cavernous purse, and Fritz caught the look of relief on her face.

"Captain Johnson," she answered in a sure voice, so different from the one pleading for understanding from Fritz just a moment before.

"Yes," she said, her lips pursed, listening to the caller. "I see." She glanced over at Fritz. "I can't talk now, but I will call you back in a few minutes to get the details." Without waiting for the person on the other end to reply, she hung up. For a brief second she seemed to falter, her ever-present mask slipped away and Fritz saw the bone-weary woman beneath. But it was just a flash, and she quickly reassembled herself and was the no-nonsense Brenda Leigh Johnson.

"Fritz, I hate to do this to you, but I have to go. There's been a murder, and I have to get to the crime scene." She slid off her chair.

"Do you have to go?" Despite her revelation and the ruination of his plans for the evening, Fritz didn't want their time together to end.

"I do, Fritz, I do. But remember, you are spending' all Friday with me down at the station. If we're lucky, there will be a murder then." Fritz knew Brenda had no idea how awful that sounded. "And it bein' Atlanta and all, there is never a shortage of murders."

She leaned over and grabbed the box of chocolates and slipped them in her purse. "Thanks again for these," she said. "They are probably gonna be my breakfast."

Fritz scoffed. "If you don't have a dozen Ho-He's and a couple of pounds of chocolate in your office right now I'd be shocked beyond belief."

"Well, yea, but this is good chocolate." She reached out and gave him a quick, one-armed hug, and said, "stay out of trouble, and I'll see you Friday morning' at 8 o'clock. Bright eyed and bushy-tailed."

He missed her use of silly idioms. "Goodnight, Brenda," he said, and he watched as she walked out of the bar.

Brenda slid behind the wheel of her Crown Vic and threw her purse on the passenger's side. She leaned over, extracted her phone, and dialed a familiar number.

One of the Sergeants in her Division answered, and Brenda was relieved is was the same one who called her, a 20-something woman who was easily intimidated by Brenda. These were her favorite type of people.

"How bad is it?" she asked Sgt. Bailey, cutting to the chase.

"Well, he's calmed down. Lieutenant Capistrano is with him right now, and he knows you are on your way." She paused. "Why did you tell your husband you were stuck at work on Valentine's day when you weren't?"

Her voice held such a naiveté that Brenda wanted to reach through the phone and slap the young woman. _Wait until you find yourself in a bad marriage, _she wanted to yell_. Let's see what lies you tell your husband._

Instead, she attempted humor. "Because I forgot to get him a card." Sgt. Bailey didn't laugh. Brenda felt very uneasy. _The next time Hart shows up at my office and accuses me of cheating on him in front of my squad, they will remember this night, and will wonder if he is so crazy after all_.

"He brought you a dozen red roses," Sgt. Bailey said, as if that made up for him throwing a tantrum.

"Tell you what," Brenda replied, her anger peaking, her choices being questioned for a second time in 30 minutes. When I get there I'll get those flowers from Hart and give them to you for all your hard work tonight. Sound fair?"

"Really?" she said, not catching on to her superior's sarcasm. "Thanks! No one has ever given me roses before."

Brenda gritted her teeth together. "Tell Hart I'll be there in 20 minutes, " she snapped, and hung up the phone. She was too busy the for niceties involved in wrapping up a phone call. When relevant information had been swapped, she hung up, saving time for both parties.

The phone had pinched an earlobe as she talked, and after she flung it on the other seat, she reached up and removed the studs from both of her ears and held them in her hands. She hated these earrings. Cheesy, heart-shaped, gold-plated earrings Hart had given her last Valentine's day. She tossed them in the back of her jewelry box, forgetting about them, until this morning, when Hart asked why she wasn't wearing them. He put up such a fuss she left her breakfast and changed earrings to make him happy. She had meant to take them out once she got to work, but she had completely forgot about them once she arrived at the precinct. She threw the earrings over her shoulder into the back seat, not caring if she ever found them again.

Hart. That son of a bitch.

Brenda knew he would have an absolute fit if she told him she was meeting a male friend for drinks, so she simply lied and said she had to work late, sorry about the dinner plans. She had no idea where he planned to take her, and she didn't care. She much rather have spent the evening with Fritz than with Hart.

_Some marriage you got there, Brenda Leigh. You rather spend Valentine's Day with another man besides your husband. _

She wanted to laugh sometimes when she looked at her life, but she was afraid the laughter would soon turn to tears, and once she started crying, she would never stop. She had everything she wanted, long ago: good looks, a career, a bright future. Then came Will Pope and a packages of promises she was stupid enough to believe. Will had shattered something in her core, a part of her that couldn't be repaired, but she wasn't sure what it was. Her ability to trust? To hope? Whatever it was, when Hart proposed after six months of dating, she said yes because she couldn't think of any reason to say no. It wasn't because he was her soul-mate, or because they had some deep connection. She didn't believe that was possible for her to have with anyone. It was more like she had come to a fork in the road: turn right and stay single and be alone, turn left and get married and never have to think about dating again. Both paths had their pros and cons. She had stayed to the right for 34 years, so what the heck, let's try a left-hand turn.

She should have stayed on course.

Despite the unpleasant reason for the call, Brenda was grateful for Sgt. Bailey's timely interruption. She didn't want to have to look into Fritz's beautiful, bleeding brown eyes and lie to him about loving Hart. Or worse, tell him the truth. _No, I don't love my husband. I make terrible choices when it comes to men. I let you get away, didn't I?_

Brenda knew when men were attracted to her. She often used this information when getting confessions out of suspects, manipulating the male proclivity to think with parts other than their brains to wheedle bits and pieces of information past their mental shields. An exaggerated walk, a flick of her hair, a hiked up-skirt, and a man would be all hers. She never employed such tactics with Fritz Howard. He was her friend., and he had treated her with respect from the moment they had met. He had a girlfriend, albeit an off and on one, and she got involved with Pope within a year of starting at Metro. But she knew, without a doubt, that he was attracted to her. And, she finally admitted to herself, the it was mutual. But she shoved those feelings to the back of her mind, attributing it to the fact that they were good friends, were both attractive, and were roughly the same age. It wasn't surprising a spark formed. But she was busy planning her life with Will, and Fritz was busy...well, she was never really sure what he did with Cindy, except fight a lot. And then she morphed into a depressed, broken mess after the break-up, and then she was gone.

_And then she was married. Foolish woman._

There was no slot in her life for Fritz to slip into, no opportunity for them to be a..._them_. Their relationship was riddled with bad timing and bad choices. _All of them my fault_, she thought bitterly. The look of devastation on his face when she told him she was married was horrible. She shuttered. She was such a coward. Brenda Leigh Johnson, Interrogator Extraordinaire, tough broad who spits nails, was too much of a wimp to tell her friend she had gotten married. It would have been so much simpler over the phone. Or via e-mail. She wouldn't be haunted with the image of Fritz across the table from her, holding her hand and staring at the cheap wedding band she wore, looking like someone had stolen all his dreams.

Brenda's cell phone rang again. She looked over and saw that it was Hart. He was probably still at the station making a fuss, and wanted to talk to demand to know where she was and what she was doing. She had no what she was going to tell him. _I was out breaking people's hearts for Valentine's day. Including my own._ She reluctantly started her car and pulled away from the hotel.

Fritz watched her petite form recede, and slumped back against his chair. He felt like someone had come up and done a karate kick to his abdomen. Several karate kicks.

It would have been one thing to find out she was dating someone. Sure, he would have been really disappointed, but he would have understood. But to have her tell him she was married, and had been married for a year and didn't tell him, well, he didn't know which emotion to feel first, anger, hurt or disappointment.

Anger because she was screwing up her life again. Hurt because she didn't tell him she had gotten married. And disappointment-_oh, this might be a winner_- that his hopes to connect with her on this trip, after so many years, were crushed.

Fritz didn't need to be a detective to know he didn't love her husband. It's a pretty good clue you aren't happy when you describe getting married as "no big deal." And when he asked her point blank, she rattled off that he was a "good provider." Since when did Brenda need providing for? She was always a career woman, and always would be. She was just grasping at something, anything nice to say about the man. He closed his eyes and pictured her in all of her delicate beauty and thought of everything he wanted to give her. His love. Loyalty. Support. Great sex. Partnership. Anything, anything at all she needed, he would give her. That is what a good provider is, he thought. Not some chump who makes decent money building houses.

_I hate this guy and I haven't even met him_, Fritz thought. But he had the feeling, the sense, in his gut, and from knowing Brenda, that this man did not treat her well, and although she chose him because he was the anti-Pope, she once again found herself with a man who didn't value her. He closed his eyes and felt tears of frustration begging to be released. _ Why didn't I end up with her. I could love her so much better. We could be happy_. The future he had dreamed about, a future with Brenda where her fire was restored and he didn't feel the need to drown himself in a bottle, was gone, and all he had was...all he had. His job. Cindy. And a bad habit of drinking too much, which he had a feeling was only going to get worse after tonight's hope-crushing events.

A better man than he would call her up and cancel for Friday. He should tell her he needed to attend the conference after all, and thank her for the kind offer of shadowing her at work, but he would have to decline. Then he should slip out of town early Saturday morning and...never see her again. Because that's what it all comes down to. He shook his head, the thought overwhelming him. He had to let her go. She was married now, whether it was a happy union or not, it wasn't for him to say. She might start a family. Her focus should be on the future, not back in DC, on an old friend who carries a flame for her.

He couldn't do it. He had to see her one more time. And then goodbye. Cold turkey. No more e-mails, no more phone calls. He would let her get on with her life, and he would get one with his. For what it was worth, and without her, it didn't seem worth much.

The waitress approached the table and picked up Brenda's empty wine glass, pulling him out of his pool of self-pity. "Can I get you another drink, sir?" She looked him directly in the eyes and smiled, her chin tipped in a certain way that says, _I'm interested_. She was blonde, early 20's. with blue eyes and a smattering of freckles on her nose. Cute. A night with her would be a welcome distraction from his pain. And he would have someone to share the bottle of Champagne with.

He didn't hesitate. "Yes, I would." He looked at her name tag. "Kelly. Kelly, I would like a scotch on the rocks. Make it a double. And I would love it if you could tell me what time you get off your shift."

**Blah blah blah review blah blah...**

16


	4. Chapter 4

******Author's Notes: **It was pointed out to me ever so diplomatically in reviews that this story is pretty angsty, and people are waiting for some romance between our hero and heroine. I didn't set out to make it so angst-ridden, I swear, it just came out that way. But worry not, our favorite couple has suffered a lot, but the rewards will be great. The same goes for you who have stuck with this story. I promise, things will get a lot more romantic in the very near future.

That's my way of saying...this is another angst-ridden chapter. The good news is that it's short, so you can get it over with quickly, like ripping off a Band Aid.  
**  
**

_**February 14, 2007**_

_**Los Angeles, CA**_

Fritz Howard had a sixth sense when it came to knowing when someone was staring at him. The small hairs on the back of his neck bristled and his skin started to feel too tight. A frisson ran down his spine and he turned around, just in time to see the Hostess and the Maitre D' avert their gazes, one taking a keen interest in the menu in their hand and the other inspecting the ceiling. Fritz wasn't fooled. He knew they were growing impatient with him.

Fritz looked at his watch. 8:17. He would give Brenda five more minutes and then forfeit his table to the sour-looking Maitre D'. He picked up his phone for what seemed like the hundredth time since 8 o'clock and checked for messages, in the remote possibility that a call or text could have escaped his hypervigilance. Nothing. He set his jaw, hit the Favorite button, and chose "Brenda Cell."

After her greeting ended, Fritz left another version of the message he had left three other times:

"Brenda, where are you? Are reservations are for 8 and you are 15 minutes late. They are going to give away the table in a few minutes. Call me immediately." He hung up and, like the previous message, accompanied it with a text:

"At Cicada. U r 15 late. Call me ASAP."

He knew, in his heart of hearts, that leaving her all these messages was an exercise in futility. When she was in some type of work zone where she wasn't answering his calls, then that was that. She wouldn't answer if he called her once, and she wouldn't answer if he called her ten times. Frustration spread through him, closely followed by disappointment.

He wanted tonight to be perfect. It was their first Valentine's day living together, and he wanted to do something really nice with Brenda. Their first Valentines as a couple the prior year had been a bust; and it actually due to his job, not hers, as he was called to DC the day before on an urgent matter. Brenda said she couldn't care less, and he believed her. The only thing that was of value to her about Valentine's day was that it resulted in vast quantities of chocolate going on sale the day after. But he did care, her cared very much. They had waited so long to be together that he wanted to spoil her, to spoil them, on this romantic holiday. And he didn't care if it was commercial, or cheesy, or silly, as Brenda called it. He wanted to make it special for him and his girl. So he made reservations at an elegant restaurant weeks ago in order to secure a table. He got her the requisite flowers and chocolate. And to mark the occasion, he bought Brenda a pair of diamond stud earrings. They matched a necklace he had given her for Christmas, .a diamond solitaire in a gold bezeled setting that looked stunning on her. When Brenda unwrapped the gift on Christmas morning and saw the blue Tiffany box, he thought she was going to hyperventilate. She held the box perfectly still in her hand, staring at it with eyes wide, and said in a small, incredulous voice, "You got me something from Tiffany? _The_ Tiffany?" Fritz had to prod her to stop gazing at the box like it were the crown jewels and open it up. When she saw the necklace, she shrieked with delight and jumped into his arms. He had never seen anyone get more excited over a present in his life. He hoped he would evoke a similar reaction tonight with the matching earrings, because he had some ideas about ways she could thank him.

If she ever showed up.

The Maitre D' came up to him, a tight smile on his face. "Sir, I am sorry about this, but if your party doesn't show up in the next couple of minutes, I am going to have to give your table to someone else. It's quite busy tonight, as you can see."

Fritz nodded. "Just give me a couple more minutes, will you, please?" he asked. The man nodded and walked off, frowning.

Fritz slumped in his seat. The man and woman sitting to his left were openly staring at him, and the two men to his right had ceased their conversation and were clearly listening in but were pretending not to. He could only imagine what they where thinking about him right now: _poor chump, shown up on Valentine's day no less! What a loser!_

_How could Brenda do this to me?_ he thought. He had reminded her all week about their dinner plans, and she laughed and told him to stop his nagging. That morning, as she was leaving, he started to speak, and she placed her hand over his mouth. "Don't even say it. Cicada, 8 o'clock. Got it the first 50 times, Fritz. And I'm bringin' with me a goin' out dress-" she extended her right arm to show the black sheath hanging over it- "and shoes to work so I can change. Honey, I am all set. I wouldn't miss it for the world." She had taken her free hand, snaked it behind his head, pulled him down to her, and gave him a hot, fiery, not-your-typical-going-to-work kiss that was full of promise of what tonight might bring, and went out the door.

_"I wouldn't miss it for all the world."_ And he believed her. With their history of broken dates and forgotten promises, when will he learn?

He looked at his watch, and then at the front door, wishing Brenda would magically appear wearing her sexy black dress, looking gorgeous and turning heads. He held his breath each time the door opened, hoping it was her, but it was always another woman accompanied by another man, out for a lovely Valentine's evening. Fritz looked at the other couples in the restaurants, dressed up and looking beautiful and handsome and very much in love, and he could barely control his jealousy.

A thought wormed its way through Fritz's distress. There was one person who knew where Brenda Leigh Johnson was at all times, at least when she was at work, which was pretty much the majority of her life. He went into his Address book and hit a number.

"Sergeant Gabriel." Fritz could tell by the suspicion in Gabriel's voice when he answered that Fritz may have him in his address book, but he wasn't in Gabriel's, so his number showed up as an unknown caller. _Glad to know I'm so important_, he thought.

"It's Fritz Howard," she said, impatience and anger rising within him and starting to bubble over, an unwatched pot of soup on a hot stove. Being forced to call his girlfriend's subordinate to locate her because she wouldn't return his calls, well, it was humiliating. It gave her squad the impression that he wasn't very important to Brenda. _Like they need another reason to treat me like crap besides me being in the FBI_, he thought. "Where is she," he asked brusquely.

"Uh, who, you mean the Chief?"

Fritz balled his fists in annoyance. "Of course the Chief! Who else would I be talking about? I've been trying to reach her for the past 30 minutes and she won't pick up. Is she with you right now?"

Gabriel hesitated. "No sir, no, she's not here."

Fritz blew out air through his teeth. "Where the hell is she?"

"She's been down in the morgue for he past hour, Agent Howard. Is there an emergency, should I go get her..."

"Oh no, no emergency," he said sarcastically. "I would hate to disturb the Deputy Chief of Priority Homicide. It's just that I've been sitting for 20 minutes at a table by myself, waiting for her to show up for our Valentine's day dinner. The staff here are going to kick me out in the next minute or so, and everyone is staring at the pathetic loser who's girlfriend didn't show up for their date. It's really comforting to know she chose to spend the evening in the morgue than in a nice restaurant with me." He had raised his voice, and several tables around him were staring. The Hostess and the Maitre D' were heading his way.

He stood up and pulled out his wallet, then threw a $10 bill on the table to cover his seltzer. He waved at the staff to signal that he was leaving. He grabbed the roses he had brought for Brenda and headed for the door.

After a brief pause, Gabriel spoke. "Agent Howard, I'm sorry you're upset. But we caught a murder around 3 today. It's awful, this guy is a screenwriter, and his stabbed his two daughters..."

The heinous crime was lost on Fritz. "Wait a minute," he said, his anger ratcheted up a notch. Since he was outside the restaurant handing his ticket to the Valet, he felt freer to raise his voice. "The squad got called out five hours ago and Brenda didn't contact me? In all that time she couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone for a 30 second conversation to cancel our plans? I can't believe her!" He knew it was inappropriate of him to be venting to Sergeant Gabriel, but Fritz's mood had soured way beyond caring about such things as fairness.

"Sir," Gabriel said, a tinge of impatience in his voice, "it was two little girls who got killed. The crime scene was a bloody mess and was not easy to look at. And you know how the Chief gets when she is handed a new case. So take it easy, bro."

Fritz realized he was shooting the messenger, and he took a deep breath to try and bring his anger down a notch. The Valet pulled his car in front of him, and he slumped against it. "Yea, Sergeant, I know how she gets."

* * *

Brenda held her breath as she opened the front door, hoping her keys didn't jingle too loudly. The last thing she wanted right now was to wake Fritz. She gently closed the door behind her and squinted at the microwave clock. 3:14AM. He should be sound asleep, even if he is broiling mad. A small wave of relief washed over her for her few hours of reprieve.

She headed into the kitchen intent on a glass of Merlot, even though breakfast was only a few hours away. She slung her large black purse up on the granite countertop and almost knocked over a bundle of cloth that was sitting there. On closer inspection, she saw that it was a pair of her pajamas with a yellow post-it note that had one word written on it in all capitols: "COUCH." Brenda's heart contracted. Fritz was kicking her to the couch for the night. Since they had lived together, they only had one fight where they had slept apart, and it was he who had spent the night on the couch, and that was done voluntarily. But the message behind the pajamas and edict was very clear: _I am furious with you_.

She took a small comfort in the fact that he had at least picked out her favorite pajamas.

She sighed and turned to get a wine glass out of the cabinet and saw the red roses, haphazardly shoved in a vase. They were beautiful, clearly purchased at a nice florist. She put her nose in the middle of the bouquet and inhaled. Mmm, heaven. _ I bet Fritz brought these to the restaurant_, she thought. _I wonder if he_... She looked around.

Oh no. He wouldn't. _Is he really that mad? Is nothing sacred_?

Peaking out of the top of the trash can was the apex of a red cardboard heart. Brenda went over and pulled out a medium-sized box of See's milk chocolate candy in a badly mangled red Valentine's Day box. _Fritz took his anger on an innocent box of chocolates? I think these poor chocolates were a surrogate for me._ She pulled them out of the trash and set them on the counter. She removed the lid and, much to her relief, found that the candies themselves were uninjured. She poured herself a glass of Merlot from an open bottle and returned to the mangled heart, settling in to numb her pain with her two favorite drugs.

_Hmmm, that looks like a chocolate crème, let's start there_. She popped the piece of candy in her mouth and chewed, too impatient for a little relief to let it melt on her tongue like she usually did. Oh, this was good, very very good. A pecan caramel followed, than a chocolate covered cherry, then a toffee crisp, each one punctuated by a generous swig of Merlot.

It was wasn't until Brenda bit into her second chocolate turtle and thought, _reruns_, when she paused and looked down. She had eaten seven pieces of candy and refilled her glass and she wasn't conscious of doing either. She put down the half-eaten turtle and raised her hand to her mouth, suddenly feeling like she was going to vomit. She thought back to the last time she had any real food, and recalled the breakfast bar she ate around noon. She felt disgusted with herself. _What is wrong with me? I don't take care of myself and I'm digging chocolate out of the trash can in the middle of the night._ The last of her defenses crumbled and she was helpless against the feelings she was desperate for the chocolate and wine to block out.

She stumbled to the couch and sat down as the hot tears poured down her cheeks. Images of her day flashed through her head like an unwanted movie: two little girls, brutally stabbed by their father, blood everywhere. She saw the splatter across the dollhouse, the dollhouse which was almost identical to the one Brenda had when she was a child. One of the horrible mysteries of the entire case was the unspeakable brutality of the murders. When the father was cornered in his second home in Malibu, he pulled out a gun and shot himself in the head. _If had a gun, why didn't he just shoot his children, _Brenda wondered_. _It would have been less painful for them, a quicker death, less terrifying than being stabbed . Brenda knew all about rage and choice of weapons, but these where his children. If you are going to kill someone you love, wouldn't you at least kill them nicely?

And how did she get so twisted that such questions didn't seem at all strange to her?

The longer she worked at this job, the more certain that if she didn't have Fritz in her life, she would probably lose any ability to relate to the rest of humanity. She would be like an untethered hot air balloon, brilliant and powerful but completely disconnected from the world below. It was so easy for her to get lost in work and forget things like other people and relationships and commitments. But Fritz had grabbed her by the hand and was her connection to the world. Her kept her sane, he kept her human, he kept her heart beating. And she had no idea what she did for him in return.

...

Brenda was down in the morgue this evening when Sgt. Gabriel came and found her. She thought it was very strange that he would voluntarily enter the morgue when she had assigned him a task to do while she reviewed the childrens' injuries with Dr. Morales. Gabriel looked uncomfortable, even more uncomfortable than he usually did when he was around dead bodies.

"Um, Chief, I just got a phone call from Agent Howard." Gabriel squinted, like he was preparing himself for the onslaught of something unpleasant.

Brenda was confused. "Why was Fritz callin' you? Somethin' wrong?"

"Well, he said he had tried to call you several times in the past hour but you weren't answering, so he tried me to make sure you were alright."

She couldn't pick up her phone with her gloved hands, which had been touching the bodies. "I've been down here for awhile, and there's bad reception. So tell me Sergeant, why is Fritz tryin' to reach me? Is he okay?"

Gabriel shook his head slowly. "Uh, no Chief, nothing' wrong, really. Unless you count that Agent Howard is really mad at you. I guess you were supposed to meet him at a nice restaurant 30 minutes ago and you never showed up. He sat there for awhile waiting for you and trying to get you on the phone before calling me."

"Oh crap." Brenda closed her eyes. She had completely forgot. She should have called him the second they were notified they had a murder. The thought flitted through her mind, but then there was always the chance there was little they could do until the next day, and she could have made an 8PM dinner. _ No point of ruining the evening until I know for sure I have to_, she thought. _Let me assess the situation before I call Fritz_. But she took one look at that playroom, with its Barbies and stuffed animals and that dollhouse, _just like that dollhouse Grandma gave me_, all sprayed with blood, and everything in her brain was sucked out except for the murder of those two children. Once a suspect was identified, her attention was narrowed to a pinpoint: _find that father_. When she became so focused, she barely remembered her own name.

Dr. Morales stopped documenting stab wound patterns on the 6 year old to listen to Gabriel. He looked at Brenda and slowly shook his head.

"Chief, I've seen your boyfriend, and he is one beautiful specimen of manhood. You better treat that one right, because there are a lot of other women, and men, who would be happy to do so." He pointed his scalpel at Brenda to emphasize his words.

"Thank you doctor, that was so very helpful," Brenda said sarcastically. Just what she needed, reminder that she had stiff competition from all the beautiful women in LA.

Gabriel shifted from side to side, looking characteristically uncomfortable in the morgue. "Uh, Chief, I know I am completely overstepping my boundaries here, but can I make a very small suggestion? Seeing that I was the one who just got yelled at by Agent Howard since you weren't answering your phone?"

Brenda felt a twinge of guilt. "I'm real sorry about that, Sergeant. Go ahead, what do you suggest?"

"Well, if I were you, I wouldn't call Fritz. Agent Howard I mean. I would send him a text. He's really pissed right now, and I think all he's going to do is yell, which you probably don't need on top of-" he gestured at the small body on the table- "this. But definitely send him a text apologizing, and by the time you see him, hopefully he will have cooled down a bit."

She nodded silently. His suggestion had merit. A fight with Fritz over the phone was not what she needed right now. The murders were pretty much solved, but since the father was dead and his confession consisted of rants and raves just prior to shooting himself, she needed to prove conclusively that he killed his children. She could never rest until she closed her case, and even though there wasn't a dangerous killer on the loose, she couldn't go home until she had some proof that the father was he murderer.

She stared at the screen of her phone for a long time, having no idea what to write. Funny, Brenda had a silver tongue, she was a spider who could spin lies into gossamer threads to capture any criminal, but she couldn't think of a few words to text the love of her life to apologize for ruining Valentine's Day.

Finally, she decided to eschew false promises. She had said "I'll make it up to you" too many times, because the thing is, she never really did make it up to him. _Liar_, she hissed.

In the end, she only texted two words, but they were honest. "So sorry."

...

Exhaustion pushed at the back of her eyeballs and tugged at her shoulders. Brenda rubbed her neck and looked at the couch she was sitting on, thinking how it didn't look very inviting for sleep to someone who just worked 20 hours. She only had three hours to get some sleep, then she had to return to Parker Center and work with Taylor on press releases for this case.

Usually, when Brenda only got to take a nap instead a full night's sleep, she saw it as critical that she be in her own bed with Fritz. Sure, she spent a lot of nights at Parker Center out of necessity, but she knew that, like charging a phone, it was critical to have some time sleeping with Fritz to refuel, lest she become completely depleted. It was a physical need, really, a deep body-wide ache. Even just a couple of hours of hard-earned sleep during a grueling case made all the difference, as long as he held her. Brenda liked to sleep with her head tucked beneath his chin and feel each long, slow breath he exhaled tickle the small hairs on the back of her neck. Every time he breathed in she could feel his strong chest press against her, and it made her feel safe. This rhythm is what lulled her into sleep, and oh, she needed it, needed to feel his warmth next to hers. How was she going to get through tomorrow with only the couch to hold her tonight?

She grabbed her cat pajamas and headed to the bathroom to change. After brushing her teeth and washing her face as quietly as possible, she crept out, still afraid of waking Fritz. But when she walked past the open bedroom door she felt his pull, and she stopped to peer in the dark bedroom. If she couldn't touch him tonight, at least she could look at him. The moon was full and with the light coming through the windows, everything was cast in an ethereal glow. Fritz was lying diagonal in the bed, wearing only sweatpants, the blanket pushed down around his ankles. He had one arm thrown out to the side and the other rested across his chest. His hair was sticking straight up. His handsome face was turned toward her, and she could hear his deep, heavy breathing from the door. She knew without touching him that his skin was warm to the touch; it always was. He looked younger when he slept, and she could picture him as a small boy, all energy and limbs and baseball dreams. _He must have been so sweet_, she thought. _He still is_.

She didn't know if it was the sleep deprivation, the wine, the stress of the case, or a combination, but she felt herself tear up again. _I love this man so much, and all I do is hurt him. _Part of her protested this, reminding her that it was just a dinner on a silly Hallmark excuse of a holiday, but she subdued that cynical voice that always seemed to speak the loudest. _ It was important to Fritz, and that's why it should have been important to me_.She wondered for the thousandth time why he was wasting his time on her.

Fritz stirred in his sleep and murmured, and Brenda jumped back into the darkness of the hallway. She really didn't want to be fighting with Fritz at three in the morning, which is what would happen if woke up and saw her staring at him. Hell, it's gonna be ugly whenever the two of them are conscious and in the same room together. She turned to the small linen closet in the hallway and grabbed some sheets and a blanket and reluctantly left a sleeping Fritz to his dreams.

She walked out to the living room and quickly put the sheets on the sofa and lay down, dragging the blanket over her. She tossed a few times trying to get comfortable, and finally curled up on her side. _I want this horrible day to be over,_ she thought. She closed her eyes and beckoned Morpheus to take her away and give her a respite from the world for a few hours.

12


	5. Chapter 5

******Author's Notes: **Sorry this has been so angsty. I can tell by the reviews (or lack thereof) that the last chapter was one angstchunk too many. This chapter is much nicer, and the story has a happy ending. I hope you enjoy this chapter and it redeems the story.

**Again**...thanks for reading and for the feedback. Y'all rock my world.

_**February 14, 2013**_

_**Los Angeles, CA**_

Brenda never felt so pleased with herself, and that was saying something. She almost felt like giggling, except that she never giggled. Ever.

Brenda turned the car into her neighborhood and glanced at the dashboard clock. Perfect. For once she was on time. When she shut down her computer and told her secretary, Mary Jo, that she was leaving for the day, Mary Jo looked like she was going to have a heart attack. Although she don't know why she felt compelled to do so, Brenda quietly explained her early departure had to do with a Valentine's Day surprise for her husband. Mary Jo instantly lit up and clapped her hands together.

"Ohh, that man deserves it," she cooed. "You have the best-looking husband in all of LA, Chief Johnson, and the nicest one too. He deserves whatever you have in store for him." Mary Jo winked at her.

Brenda rolled her eyes. Mary Jo really could use a few more boundaries. Brenda would be jealous about her constant fawning over Fritz and his good looks if it wasn't that Mary Jo was in her early 60's and had children close to Brenda's age.

Brenda had to admit she was embarrassed, a woman her age, making a fuss over such a silly holiday. Whenever she thought of Valentine's Day, it brought mind those horrible Necco wafer candy hearts with the cheesy phrases embossed on them. It also reminded her of grade school, when her teacher had the kids make boxes covered with construction paper and decorated with hearts, glitter, flowers, and all manner of tacky things. These boxes were used to receive the Valentine's Day cards handed out by other kids, the cheap ones Willie Rae insisted Brenda give to every did in the class, even the ones she didn't like. She thought it was a waste of time then, and she thought it was a waste of time now. _That's where Valentine's Day belongs_, she mused. _With little kids who like glitter and candy hearts._

But she was trying, she was really trying, to be a different person, to see things from a perspective different than her own. Several months earlier Brenda had, not what she would call an epiphany, but rather a moment of terrifying clarity, that changed how she saw a lot of things. When Philip Stroh was on top of her, she knew, without a doubt, that he intended to kill her, and her body went into the automatic survival mode of fight or flight. But her mind...her mind produced only one thought. _Fritz will never know how much I love him._ The profound regret she felt, as she struggled to save her life on her kitchen floor, permeated every cell of her body and poured into her soul and was so intense that, unlike other feelings of regret that she shook off as soon as life returned to its normal pace, it changed her. In the months since, she had reviewed the times when she had been selfish and inconsiderate, and she had ignored Fritz's needs or outright used him to get hers met. She was exhausted by this evaluation, and each day, new memories of past abuses surfaced, and she found more to atone for. Like the horrible Valentine's Day six years prior, when her thoughtlessness had ruined Fritz's careful planning.

He was so angry after that failed evening that he didn't talk to Brenda for a week. She apologized every time she saw him, words tumbling over one other, coming out in a salad of excuses and regret. Each time she tried to say she was sorry, though, Fritz just seemed to get angrier, and after a few days she gave up. Finally he thawed and they both pretended Valentine's Day had ever happened.

They had never really celebrated it since, at least, not with any flair. Fritz refused to take her out to dinner, and that was fine with Brenda, because she feared a repeat disaster. If she were home for the evening Fritz cooked an extra nice dinner, and he always brought her chocolates and flowers. She usually remembered to get him a card. It was always up to him to do something nice because she couldn't be bothered, and he was very reserved about Valentine' niceness after That Year.

...

A few weeks ago, Brenda finally worked up the courage to ask him about it. They had just finished watching a movie and were lying in bed late on a Friday night. They were sleepy and relaxed, and Brenda thought this was a good time to bring up a sore topic.

"Fritzy, I been meanin' to ask you somethin.'' She rapped her knuckled lightly on his head, which was resting on her shoulder.

"Hmm?" he answered sleepily. He pulled himself up to face her. "What's up?"

"I wanted to ask you about that Valentine's Day in 2007. That really awful one where I didn't show up at the restaurant."

"Oh I remember," he said, his voice tight. _Oh my, he still sounds mad._

"Well, I certainly understand why you were so upset with me and all, since you went to all that trouble," Brenda started, feeling suddenly nervous. It was stupid to beat your breast over something that happened a long time ago, she knew, but she couldn't help feeling bad all over again when she looked at Fritz's face.

She continued. "But what I don't understand, and didn't get at the time either, was why it was so important to you, to have a big fancy Valentine's Day. Most guys don't care, and you know I don't. So why did it mean so much to you?" Brenda chewed her lower lip, waiting for his response.

Fritz threw his head back and closed his eyes in what Brenda called his "lord give me strength to deal with this woman" pose. "Brenda, how can you be so insightful in your professional life and so dense when it comes to your personal life? Why do you think it was so important?"

"Fritz, if I had any idea I wouldn't be askin' you." She exhaled in an impatient huff.

He raised his head up and looked at her, then shook it. "I love you, Brenda, but you are really dense sometimes."

She crinkled up her face, insulted. He reached over and caressed her cheeks. "Sorry, honey, that wasn't very nice. I'm just amazed you haven't figured this out yet."

"Well, I haven't," she said, in the petulant tone of a six-year-old. "Please enlighten me."

He crossed his legs on the bed and took her hand. "Brenda, do you know how many horrible Valentine's Days we spent together?"

Brenda thought. "Oh. You came to visit me in Atlanta. That's when I told you I was...oh." Her voice trailed off.

"Yes. That's when you told me you were married. And had been for an entire year. And I was heartbroken." Fritz's voice took on a steely edge.

"I was suck a jerk for doin' that to you, and I'm so sorry. I was just so embarrassed about my marriage..."

He squeezed her hand. "Brenda, you've explained this. You don't need to apologize again, and I didn't mean to make you think I was expecting an apology. But yea, that wasn't only a horrible Valentine's Day, but one of the worst days of my life. And that's saying something."

"Oh Fritz," she breathed.

"But that wasn't the only terrible Valentine's Day we had together."

Brenda thought. What other February 14 were they have? She raked her memory but came up empty-handed.

"Don't you remember? You found out about Will and Estelle on Valentine's Day," he said softly.

Brenda jerked her hand out of his and raised it to her face. Unbidden memories of a dark time floated to the surface of her consciousness, and she fought to sink them again, back to the depths, where they belong.

"I, I don't remember, exactly," she faltered. "That whole time in my life is hazy. All I remember is that you were there, bein' a real good friend to me. But in terms of what happened when, well, that is sort of all mixed up." A familiar pain hit her, the ache that still came whenever she thought about her poor choices and the price she paid for them. But the pain had dulled over the years, and Fritz's love has taught her to forgive herself and move on. But it wasn't easy; there are some wounds that fester and never quite fully heal, and Will Pope was one of them.

"So what does that have to do with what happened six years ago?" Brenda asked, pulled back from her reverie.

"See, Brenda, we had these awful Valentine's Days together, and that was the first year we were living together, we were really established as a couple. And I thought about all the years we had known each other and I had this huge thing for you and we never seemed to connect, and then suddenly here you are in LA. It was a miracle to me. I tell you, when we started dating, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, as corny as that sounds, because it was a very, very long time in coming."

She smiled at him. "It was pretty amazin', wasn't it? Mama always believed in fate, and she used to say it was fate that brought us together. I don't know about that, but maybe someone looked down us and said, let's give those two a break."

"And the next thing you know, we're making out on the couch while you are wearing a wire while Provenza or Flynn were probably listening in," he said. They both laughed.

"But seriously, I felt like I was walking on air, and I wanted a really great Valentine's Day to make up for crappy ones we spent together. I also wanted a fancy evening when I showered the woman in my life with nice things because I wanted to, not because she demanded I do so. The evening was going to be nice for the both of us, Brenda. A celebration of us, and that we could finally have a nice romantic holiday."

"Except I messed it up, and it became another bad one," she said, her voice dripping with regret.

"Yea," he said softly, and pulled her close to him, rubbing her lower back. "But I forgave you, Brenda. Let it go."

_You first_, she thought.

...

Brenda pulled into her driveway and saw a beat-up Toyota parked in front of the duplex. _Perfect timing_, she thought. She grabbed her black bag and the packages next to it and got out of her car.

A young woman met her in the driveway. "Theresa," said Brenda, extending her hand.

Theresa had to set down a grocery bag to take it. "Hello, Chief Johnson. I'm Theresa Tao. Well, I guess you already figured that out. I know we've been introduced before, but it's really nice to see you again. And I'm really excited about tonight!"

_Yes you are, and it's so cute_, Brenda thought. _And there's no way you are excited as me_.

"Let's go in through the back door," Brenda said. "Can I carry anythin'?"

Theresa smiled gratefully and placed her bags at Brenda's feet, and then jogged back to her car to unload more. Brenda tottered to the back door with her load and managed to unlock it without dropping anything.

"Okay," the young woman started, appraising the kitchen as she followed Brenda in and placed more grocery bags on the table. "First thing we need to do go over the menu and make sure I bought everything. And then we need to set up where you are going to eat. We want atmosphere, since it's Valentine's Day and this is special." Theresa ducked out of the kitchen to get a good look at the rest of the duplex.

Brenda wanted to laugh at the dedicated 21-year-old. She reminded Brenda of herself at that age, where everything is possible. Brenda felt another wave of anticipation, feeling like her advanced planning and dedication were going to pay off.

Brenda had gotten the idea working around the rich and entitled in Priority Homicide. _Must be nice to have a chef come in and cook you dinner_, she had thought to herself. _Wouldn't I love to do that for Fritzy, but we could never afford it_. She had put the thought out of her mind, until Lieutenant Tao threw a small dinner party last December. Tao introduced his niece, Theresa, who was student at Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts, and said that Theresa had cooked all the food for the party, since Theresa's goal was to become a caterer when she graduated. The food was delicious, and Brenda raved so much about the chocolate cheesecake that Kathy Tao sent her home with three slices. So when Brenda was thinking of ways to surprise Fritz for Valentine's day, a light went off. She called Lt. Tao and asked him if Theresa might be willing to cook dinner for her and Fritz for a reasonable price. Lt. Tao thought that Theresa would be thrilled; she was always looking for any catering-related activities. He promised to call her and get back to Brenda. 30 minutes later, Tao called back, reporting that he had talked to Theresa, and she would consider it an honor to cook a romantic dinner for Fritz and Brenda. Tao gave Brenda Theresa's contact information and wished her good luck.

Theresa was wonderful. She threw herself into the task with the enthusiasm only a young person at the cusp of their career can do. She e-mailed Brenda many sample recipes and food suggestions, and after several exchanges, they finally settled on a menu. They arranged for Theresa to do the shopping and then come to Brenda's house to get set up in the afternoon, so she had plenty of time to prepare dinner and serve Brenda and Fritz at a leisurely pace. All this for a price that was initially so low that Brenda insisted on doubling it. Theresa protested, writing back that what she needed was referrals if Brenda or Fritz knew anyone in need of catering, but Brenda insisted on paying her more for all of her work. She was not about to take advantage of this girl's eagerness and apparent awe of her.

Brenda was sorting through the groceries when Theresa returned to the kitchen. "Oh Chief, don't worry about that, I'll handle those," she said.

Brenda smiled at her. "Call me Brenda, not Chief. You don't even work for me!"

"Oh, sorry. I'm just used to hearing Uncle Mike talk about you, and he always just called you 'Chief.' He always tells the best stories about you." She suppressed a laugh.

Brenda arched an eyebrow. "So what has Uncle Mike been tellin' you about me?" she asked, curious. _What indeed?_

Theresa looked like she was going to get in trouble. "Oh, you know, things about your cases. A lot of really sad things, but some funny ones, too. Like you trapping a suspect in an elevator to get a confession. And the time a dead body was mailed to your department and you guys pretended to mail it back. Oh, and there was the cop who had the sex change operation who had the big crush on you. And..."

Joel wandered into the kitchen, clearly hoping to score an early dinner since Brenda was home.

"Oh! Theresa exclaimed. "Did you really used to bring a bunch of kittens into work with you?"

Brenda laughed. "Oh my, yes, yes I did. I'm so glad my legacy in Major Crimes has to do with cats."

Theresa turned serious and changed the topic of conversation. "Okay, I've looked at your apartment and this is what I think. You and your husband are going to want to have some privacy as you eat, and not hear me banging around in the kitchen, so your dining room is a little close. So I think you should eat in your living room. There is a round end table out there that is big enough to eat on. How does that sound?"

Brenda nodded. "Lead the way."

After a few minutes, the small round table was now in the center of the living room and had a white table cloth draped over it. Brenda found two dark red napkins and put them where the silverware will be placed. Theresa regarded their setup with pursed lips.

"Hmm, needs something more. Do you have any dried flowers?"

"No, but come to think of it, Fritz almost always brings me flowers for Valentine's Day. I can put those on the table."

Perfect! And do you have any special china to use?"

Brenda thought. "Well, I do have my Grandma's china, but I've never used it before. It's in the hutch over there." She gestured to the dining room. "I don't know if I want to bring it out. It's just for special occasions."

"And what is tonight?" Theresa asked. "You have someone at your house to cook a romantic dinner for two on Valentine's Day, that seems pretty special to me. My mother always said that good china is meant to be used, to kept locked up for special occasions that never happen."

Brenda thought about it. Her Mama had hauled the china out to her a few Christmases ago, and she had never used it, not once.

"Your mother is right. Let me get out a couple settings, plus some serving bowls and platters for you to use." _Mama would be so happy to see me using Grandma Anna's china, _Brenda thought_. Especially for a night when I was spoiling Fritz_. She loved him so much. A familiar ache pressed against her heart and she felt tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them back. _No crying tonight_, she scolded herself.

After 20 minutes she had extracted the pieces of China she wanted from their careful wrapping and brought them back to the kitchen to be rinsed off. She left the serving pieces with Theresa, who was busy chopping vegetables. Brenda set the table, hoping she remembered the correct order of the knives and spoons, and stepped back to admire her handiwork. The table looked elegant with the vintage china, and Brenda was glad Theresa urged her to use it. _Wait until I light the candles, it will be breathtaking_, she thought, as she went back to check on Theresa.

"All set," she sad, as she caught a whiff of smelled like garlic and onions in a pan. "If you predict your husband is coming home around 7, than we are doing great on time."

"I've got nothin' to do. Can I help you chop?"

Theresa looked hesitant. "I know that is going to sound snobby, but chefs don't like novices to prep anything they are going to cook. Things have to be diced just right or they won't sauté evenly. Sorry If I've offended you."

"Oh no, not at all. I just wanted to help you out is all."

"Well, you could always work on the dishes."

Brenda hesitated. "I think I'm gonna take a shower."

* * *

An hour later, Brenda had freshened up and put on her new dress bought for the occasion. It was a bright red fitted dress with a deep vee that showed a little cleavage, which she knew Fritz would love. She got the bedroom prepared for the romantic evening and wrapped Fritz's small gift. She then turned her attention to the living room, pulling out several scented candles from her shopping bag and strategically placing them around the room. She found some jazz music and, after listening to it and deeming it appropriate background dinner music, paused it on the stereo. She looked around, pleased with her efforts. She looked at her watch: 5:30. Before showering she sent Fritz a quick text asking him to send her a message when he was leaving the office so she could meet him at home; of course, it was to know exactly when he was going to arrive. Brenda wanted everything ready and waiting for him. She wanted everything to be perfect.

The entire house had filled up with the smells of delicious foods cooking. Theresa was whisking something on the stove, something that, to Brenda, looked suspiciously chocolate. "So what do you have there?" Brenda asked as she wandered over.

"Your dessert," Theresa answered. "Well, part of it. You look really nice, Chief, I mean, Brenda."

"Thanks, Theresa. I imagine Fritz will be home in about an hour, but he's gonna text me when he's leavin' the office, so we'll have a 30 minutes heads up. Everything goin' okay?"

"Yes!" she answered, as she whisked. "The steaks are marinating, the potatoes are ready to boil, the soup is warming, the salad is made, dessert is cooking, I'll put the hors d'oeuvres in the oven when your husband arrives, and, um, I think that's it."

Brenda looked around at her kitchen. There was hardly a dish in sight. Where was the mess that came along with cooking a meal? Brenda was mystified.

"Theresa, were in the world are all the dirty dishes? How did you manage to cook all that and clean up at the same time?"

Theresa laughed. "Are you one of those people who cooks and then spend an hour doing the dishes because their kitchen looks like a bomb exploded?" Brenda nodded. "You have to learn to do the dishes as you go along, Ch-Brenda. It makes you life so much easier."

"Theresa, after tonight's dinner and hearin' what you just said, I'm in big danger of losin' you to Fritz!"

Theresa smiled and shook her head. "Not the way you look tonight."

Once again finding herself with nothing to do, Brenda poured a glass of Merlot and sat down in the living room. She had just swallowed her first sip when her phone beeped: "Leaving office now. Will you be my Valentine? xxoo." Brenda felt herself grow warm reading his message-_when did you become so sappy?_-and answered him in kind: "I've always been your Valentine. See you at home. Love u 2." She turned and yelled to Theresa that Fritz would be home in 30 minutes, and then settled back into the cushions and took another deep drink. Joel jumped up next to her and begged for some pets, which she was happy to supply. "Just don't shed on my new dress, okay, Joel?' she said.

Brenda had just settled on an appropriate volume for the background music when she heard Fritz's keys jingling at the front door. She stood up and went over to the entry to greet him. The confusion on his handsome face was apparent when he walked into the candlelit living room that, with the addition to the small table set for dinner for two, looked more like a restaurant than his home. He jumped a bit when he saw Brenda standing there in the semi-darkness and nearly dropped the roses he was carrying.

"Whoa, Brenda, hi, what's going on? Wow, you look hot!" Fritz was an incredibly sexy mixture of confused, excited and, once he saw Brenda, a little turned on. He looked around the room and then his eyes returned to her, and he put his arm around her and pulled her close. "Did I tell you look hot?"

She laughed and kissed him. "I do all this and the only thing you notice is me?" She teased.

"Honey, you are usually the only thing I notice. But I am kind of curious why there's a table in our living room." He leaned down and kissed her. "New dress?" He eyed her appreciatively.

"New dress," she said. "I wanted to look extra nice tonight, because tonight we celebrate Valentine's day in style. We are havin' a lovely, romantic Valentine's Day dinner for two."

Fritz handed her the roses. "Oh, did you cook?"

"No, and don't think I didn't hear the disappointment in your voice, Fritz."

"I didn't-"

"Never mind that," she waved her hand in the air. "No clam linguini tonight. We are havin' dinner prepared by our own private chef," she said proudly.

Fritz looked a little stunned. "Really?"

"Really." She took his hand. "Now come and meet somebody."

Brenda led him into the kitchen, grabbing a vase from the breakfront along the way. Theresa had put on a white chef's jacket and chef's hat since Brenda had last seen her. She was slicing up a lime but stopped when they entered the kitchen. Hi Fritz!" she said, coming over to them. "I'm Theresa Tao, we kind of met at my Uncle Michael's house a couple of months ago." She extended her hand.

"Ah yes, I remember," Fritz said. "You made that amazing dinner. And you are cooking for us tonight?"

"Yes I am. Brenda asked me to come and prepare a romantic dinner for two for your Valentine's day, and we've been working hard at picking out the perfect menu for the past few weeks." She looked over at Brenda. "You have a great wife, Fritz. She wanted to make this a wonderful Valentine's Day for you. I hope you really enjoy everything we planned."

Both Fritz and Theresa were looking at her, so Brenda busied herself with arranging the roses in the vase. Fritz came up behind her and pulled he toward him, leaning down and kissing her, and said, "I know I have a great wife, Theresa. The best."

Brenda couldn't take it any more. She was not one for public displays of affection. They were just too painful. "Will you stop, you two? You are about embarrassin' me to death!"

"Sorry, Brenda. Well, now that you are here, Fritz, we can start the evening." Theresa's tone had taken on an older, more professional tone. "If you want to get settled in an change, I will be bringing in drinks and in hors d'oeuvres to the living room in ten minutes. You two can relax and talk for awhile and enjoy your cocktails, and dinner will be in a half an hour."

"Perfect, thanks Theresa," Fritz said, and Brenda followed him out of the kitchen. She went back to the living room and placed the roses on the table. They looked beautiful. She turned around and Fritz was staring at her. "I can't believe you arranged all of this, Brenda. Who are you and what did you do with my wife?"

"Ha ha," she said, sticking out her lower lip. "I'm tryin' to turn over a new leaf an concentrate on the livin', and maybe right some wrongs while I'm at it. I thought maybe givin' you, and us, a nice Valentine's Day might be a nice place to start."

He looked at her, his soft brown eyes so full of love that Brenda could have drowned in them. "Thank you," he said softly, again pulling her toward him.

"Hey, none of that now," she playfully swatted him. "Why don't you go take a quick shower and change." She lowered her voice. "There is a small present for you on the bed. I highly suggest opening it before you get dressed." Fritz raised his eyebrows at her, but she just playfully smacked his butt and said, "shoo, shoo!" until he finally retreated into the bedroom.

Theresa came out, holding a small object in her hand, which she placed on the table. "Oh yes, the roses look great," she said. "I brought this with me, " she pointed to a small gold bell. "You can ring this when you are ready for your next course, or if you need a refill of your drink, or anything else from me. That way, I won't have to interrupt you and Fritz unnecessarily. Oh, and what I plan to do is serve you dessert and coffee and then leave right after that. The kitchen will be all cleaned up, you will just need to wash the dessert plates. That way you can have the rest of the evening, er, to yourselves." Brenda felt her cheeks grow warm. _I can't believe I'm blushin' like a teenager_, she thought. Theresa stood next to her and stared at the general direction of the bedroom. "Um, Brenda, I hope you don't mind me saying, but your husband is really hot."

_Oh lord, not you too_, Brenda thought. _Why are people always drooling after my husband_? Instead she said, "why yes he is, Theresa, yes he is."

Fritz came out of the bedroom a short while later to find a seltzer with lime awaiting him, along with crab cakes, spring rolls, an antipasto plate, and a spread of cheeses. Sat down on the couch next to Brenda, who had already started to fill her plate with appetizers.

"Eclectic selection we have here," Fritz said, reaching out and grabbing a crab cake.

"Well, yea. I went back and forth with Theresa about what were gonna serve. Maybe things don't fit together perfectly, but I wanted to have your favorites. It isn't every day we get our own private chef."

He finished the crab cake and took a drink of his seltzer. He scooted closer to Brenda and put his arm around her, pulling her close. He bent down and whispered in her ear.

"My, the bedroom certainly looked..._inviting_. Black satin sheets, Brenda?" He smirked in amusement. "I don't think I've ever seen those in the linen closet before."

"Oh no, like I said, I did some shoppin' to get ready for tonight."

"You certainly did." He pulled her against him and kissed her. "And honey, I loved my present. I take it you wanted me to wear those silk boxers now." He looked at her suggestively.

"Oh yes," he breathed, suddenly wishing Theresa was not in their kitchen preparing dinner but was very, very far away. "I wanted them to be on you for when I undress you later." He groaned in response.

"Uh, not to sound ungrateful at all, but how long is our private chef going to be here? I have my own Valentine's Day presents to give you, and they don't come wrapped."

She laughed and smacked his arm. "Oh Fritz, that is just terrible, really!" She threaded her fingers through his thick hair. "Theresa was just tellin' me that as soon as she serves us dessert, she's takin' off."

He smiled. "Good. Because I'm hoping, really, really _hoping_, that since you were shopping for silk boxers for me, you might have stopped and picked yourself up something like that too." He looked at her, expectantly.

She pushed him away and leaned over the coffee table, filling a plate with spring rolls crab cakes, and cheeses. "You will just have to find out now, won't you?" she said, passing the plate to Fritz with a saucy grin. _Just you wait, Fritz, just you wait_.

A few minutes later Theresa stuck her head out and made a ringing motion with her hand, indicating through sign language that Brenda should use the bell when she and Fritz were ready to start dinner. As delicious as the appetizers were, Brenda forced herself to stop eating, knowing all the other food that Theresa was busy preparing, and not wanting to be too full to miss out on a bite of it. Fritz reluctantly put down his crab cakes and joined her at the table. He frowned at the roses he had brought her, and stood up and switched them for a couple of candles Brenda had burning on the mantle.

"What did you do that for?" Brenda frowned.

"I couldn't see your beautiful face over the flowers," he said. "That's much better." He relaxed into the chair.

Brenda rung the bell, and Theresa emerged from the kitchen carrying their salads, and came back a minute later with a basket of bread. "A friend of mine in the Pastry program made these special for you guys. Theresa regarded the oddly-shaped rolls. "I think Mimi was going for heart-shaped, but that didn't work out too well. But she's a fab baker so I know they'll taste great!" She disappeared again into the kitchen.

She was right, they were delicious. After Brenda had eaten on and was reaching for a second, Fritz put his hand on hers. "I think this place gives doggy bags," he said. "The salad's great. Thanks for remembering I love pears in my salad."

"It's what you always order," she said, happy she had gotten this detail right.

He put down his fork and looked at her. "Brenda, this is all so special. I think this is the nicest thing you have ever done for me. And now tell me why you have gone to all this trouble for a holiday you hate." He sat back and looked at her expectantly.

"I don't hate Valentine's Day!" she protested. I just think it's-"

"Silly. I know. So why do this for a holiday you think is 'silly?'"

She sat down her roll. How to explain it to him? She always had a terrible time translating things in her heart into words. She usually ended up babbling and either sounded like an idiot or defensive or a little of both.

"Let me see if I can say this so it makes sense. Cuz even though I've been workin' on bein' more honest with my feelin's every since Mama died, it's still hard to talk about them." Fritz nodded his encouragement.

"I realize how many awful things I've done to you over our years together, and I feel awful. and the thing is, Fritz, I felt awful at the time too, but I didn't now how to really tell you how bad I felt, and when I tried, I would tell you that I would make it up to you. But you know, I never did make things up to you, did I?"

Fritz started to interrupt her, and Brenda held up a hand. "I know what you are gonna say, Fritz, and I appreciate it. You are gonna say that all you've ever wanted was to spend more time with me, and for me to be out of harm's way so you don't have to worry about me any more. And you have that now I'm at the DA's office, and I know you are so much happier havin' me home in the evenins, and cuz I don't get called out in the middle of the night anymore. And I'm happier too, and our marriage is stronger. I'm so glad I could give that to you, to us. But there is still that feelin' that I want to make things up to you somehow. And that's why I asked about that horrible Valentine's Day six years ago, when you were fit to be tied. That has been a sore spot between us for years. I'm glad I finally got up the courage to ask you, cuz when you explained it to me, it made so much sense. You were tryin' to have a great Valentine's Day together, a really romantic night just for us, to make up for the truly horrible ones we happened to have spent together in the past, even though they were before we were datin'. And then it occurred to me that this is an opportunity where I can make somethin' up to you, something concrete and specific. We finally get our great, romantic Valentine's Day together as a couple, and I don't think any time I get to spend a lovely evening with you is silly."

Fritz had the look on his face that Brenda loved, that gobsmacked, I-adore-you-beyond-belief look. "What can I say? Except I love you so much, Brenda. And yes, this definitely makes up for that...other night we shall no longer mention, okay?"

Brenda raised her glass and Fritz mimicked her. "Cheers!" they said in unison.

After a few more rounds of bell-wringing and courses being delivered, Fritz looked up from his steak au poivre and said, "you know Brenda, not all our Valentine's Days were bad."

"Hmmm?" Brenda was blissing out on the gorgonzola cheese mashed potatoes. _Man that Theresa can cook. I wonder if she gives lessons. Fritz is looking pretty happy._

"I said, and I hate to take you away from your carbo loading, and why don't you try some spinach, but not all of the Valentine's days we spent together were bad."

"First of all, Fritz, I did taste the spinach and plan to eat the rest on my plate. It's creamed spinach, so whatever nutritional value there is has been far outweighed by fat and calories. There is not one healthy thing in this meal, trust me, I made sure of that, and that's why it's so good." She grinned wickedly. "And I know we had several nice Valentine's Days layin' low, eatin' dinner at home or orderin' a pizza, which suited me just fine. All you need to do is bring me chocolate and I'm happy as a clam." She put down her fork ad looked around. "Speaking of..."

"My lord woman, do you have a one track mind or what! Yes, I got you chocolate. I hid it in the bedroom." He leaned over to her. "I thought it would be kind of fun to see just how turned on I could make you, feeding you chocolate while I did...other things." He wagged his eyebrows at her.

_Okay, what's with the blushing? I've got to stop this, for heaven's sake, I am way too old to act like this. _She tried to shake it off. "Hmmm, chocolate at the same time as 'other things.' Fritz, my head might explode. Good luck explainin' that to the police."

Once he stopped laughing, he took another bite of his steak and chewed. "Hey, you got me off track. No, I wasn't talking about those really hot evenings where we celebrated the most romantic night of the year by ordering Romano's pizza while you wore your favorite hot-pink sweatpants, I meant that we met on Valentine's Day, did you remember that?"

She was indignant. "What's wrong with my pink sweatpants? You said my ass looked-"

"Brenda!" She stopped talking. "I was just teasing. Did you hear what I asked. Did you remember we met on Valentine's Day, back in 1997?"

She wrinkled her nose up in concentration. "Impossible," she said finally, taking a bite of the spinach. _Theresa even makes vegetables taste yummy. I love this woman._ "I started at the DC police in March 1997."

"No you didn't. You started in February. I clearly remember meeting on February 14."

"You are wrong, Fritz. I started in March, Fritz. I'm positive I started in March."

He crossed his arms and stared at her. "'And I'm positive I met you in February. On the 14th. On the elevator. I tried to be friendly completely rebuffed me." He stared at he intently. "You thought I was hitting on you."

She took her mind back to that time. _Starting at the DCPD, first week_... She slapped her hand down on the table. "That's right!" she said. "I remember now! I did start in February. I remember all the guys in Metro were askin' me out for Valentine's Day." Her eyes narrowed. "Includin' you." She stuck a finger out at him.

"I was not!" He was offended. "I was on my way to take Cindy out to dinner and I saw you on the elevator and I simply introduced myself. You just assumed I was coming on to you and gave me the 'Brenda Johnson Treatment.'"

"The 'Brenda Johnson Treatment?" She raised crossed her arms, mimicking his position.

"You chewed me up and spit me out," he admitted, trying not to smile. He unfolded his arms and resumed eating. Brenda did the same. "Truth be told, Brenda, I saw you in the hall and I was so taken by you I just wanted to meet you. I thought you were the most beautiful women in the world. But I had more respect for you than to hit on you like the other clods at Metro."

"Oh Fritzy, you are so respectful," Brenda said, biting back a smile. "I, on the other hand, might not remember meetin' you on Valentine's day, but I do remember thinkin' one thing the first time I met you."

"And what was that?"

"Nice ass."

Their plates were empty, and Brenda was eager for dessert. Brenda was pretty much always eager for dessert. She reached for the bell and rung it with gusto.

"I hope you don't get too used to that," Fritz said. "I don't want you ringing a bell and expect me to coming running with your dinner."

She batted her eyelashes. "And why not?"

Fritz was getting ready to answer when Theresa approached carrying a tray. She placed two teacups with coffee in front of them, with a creamer full of milk. Brenda admired how elegant her Grandma's china looked in the candlelight. She was quickly distracted by the plate put in front of her. "Oh my" she breathed, "I think this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my entire life." She looked up at the young chef. "You did a an incredible job with this, Theresa!"

"It's good having friends with talent," she said, smiling. "My buddy Jake is the chocolate whisperer. I asked for a chocolate box, and he gave me a heart-shaped box. And unlike my friend Mimi, he knows how to make food into shapes." The fist-shaped chocolate confection was filled with chocolate mousse and was topped with chocolate sprinkles. It was a work of art.

"I'm speechless," Fritz said, smiling at Theresa. "This entire meal was heavenly. I promise to tell everyone in my office that they should hire you for their next party. You have a way with food."

The young woman positively glowed. "Thank you so much, Fritz. It's been a lot of fun making dinner for you two, it really has been. Now, the kitchen is clean and there are some leftovers in the fridge. I'm going to grab my things and slip out the backdoor. I really hope the two of you enjoy the rest of your evening."

There was a flurry of goodbyes, and Brenda noticed that Theresa got nervous and flubbed her words when Fritz gave her a brief hug. When the door had closed the door behind her, Fritz grabbed Brenda and pulled her against him.

"You know, dessert tastes better when eaten sitting on the lap of someone you love," he said, sitting down and guiding her down on top of him.

"Is that true?" she asked, picking up Fritz's dessert. She took the last spoon on the table and scooped up a generous helping of the mouse and put it her mouth. "Oh my," she said, eyes closed. "This is incredible. That girl really knows how to cook." She scooped another spoonful to eat, but Fritz playfully grabbed her wrist and guided it to his mouth.

"Wow, that's good. Really, really, good. And you know. woman, you are eating my dessert, don't you?"

"Well," she said, breaking off a small piece of chocolate and taking a bite, "I thought we could eat one of the chocolate boxes now, and another later, for extra energy, after, well, you know." She gave him The Look, the one she knew stopped him in his tracks. "Oh wait, we have that box of chocolates in the bedroom." She leaned closer to him and ran her hands down his chest. "I think I'm gonna need a really good workout to burn off all of these calories." She pressed her forehead against his and caressed his face. He traced his finger from her collarbone along the vee of her neckline to where it ended between her breasts and then back up again. His finger caught on the thin gold chain she wore, and he pulled back to look at it.

Brenda was wearing the necklace he had bought her the first Christmas they lived together, a beautiful diamond and gold solitaire. from Tiffany. Brenda couldn't believe someone gave her such an extravagant gift! She remembered staring at the blue box, mesmerized, not wanting to break the spell of it all. The moment was perfect, so perfect, sitting in her living room in LA with her incredibly handsome boyfriend who bought her Tiffany for Christmas. A part of her, that cynical voice deep inside her who never shuts up, told her it was all too good to be true, she didn't deserve any of it. _The box is empty_, it whispered blackly to her. But it wasn't empty, it held a stunning piece of jewelry, the first of several pieces Fritz bought for her from Tiffany. "Because you deserve it," he told her.

Fritz had a funny look on his face as he regarded the necklace around Brenda's neck. He ran his hand over the diamond nestled in the notch between Brenda's collarbones. Brenda's shuttered at his touch. "I love this necklace, Fritz," she said. "I always have. It makes me feel special every time I wear it."

"It looks perfect on you," he said. "It's just missing one thing." She scooted the chair back and then put his hands on Brenda's hips and guided her off his lap. "What are you...hey, what are you doin'?" she asked, confused when he stood up too. He put his finger to his lips indicating that she should hush, and he disappeared into the bedroom. Brenda's attention was quickly recaptured by the dessert. She broke off another side of the chocolate box and was eating it when Fritz returned, one hand behind his back.

"I have something for you," he said, gesturing for her to sit down. She was curious. "Fritz, all this fuss for chocolates? I thought you were savin' those for later," she smiled.

"Okay, I have something else for you," and he pulled his hand out from behind his back. Brenda's response was Pavlovian. "Tiffany," she breathed. She couldn't pull her eyes away from the box. "For me?"

"Yes, for you. Open it."

Brenda's hand shook in anticipation. _I may be shallow, but something about this blue box_. she thought. _ It gets my juices flowing, just like sex and chocolate. And tonight I get all three! _She pulled out the velvet box and opened it. "Oh my," she exclaimed when she saw the earrings. "Fritz, these are beautiful!" She dragged her eyes away from the box to Fritz. "They match the necklace, oh honey, you shouldn't have! I love them! But Fritz, why such an extravagant gift this year? As far as you knew, you were gonna be spendin' the night with me in those pink sweatpants you hate so much."

"Well, actually," she started slowly, "I bought them for Valentine's day 2007. I wanted something special for you to mark the occasion of our first Valentine of us living together. But that evening got so messed up that I decided to hold on to them for another time. And the right time never came around. Until now."

"What about all the Christmases, birthdays, wedding anniversaries..." Brenda was confused.

He sighed. "It seems really weird, I wasn't withholding these to punish you. I've gotten you a lot of nice pieces of Tiffany since then, haven't I?" She nodded. "I guess, with these, well, I think I was waiting for a perfect Valentine's Day to give them to you. Like the one I had planned for that night." He looked abashed and stared at his feet. "That's a little stupid, isn't it?"

Brenda's heart squeezed. There were times when Fritz could be so sentimental, so romantic, so wanting of love that he reminded her of those kids in grade school who decorated their Valentine's Day boxes with pictures of Cupid, huge hearts, flowers, and every shade of glitter they could find. Their boxes simply begged for cards, and usually were stuffed with them by the end of the day. _Love me_, they seemed to say. _It's worth it._

_It's so very worth it_, she thought, as tears welled up in her eyes. She wiped them away. "I'm tired of cryin' on our Valentine's, Fritz," she said, standing and embracing him. "Cuz nothin' is gonna ruin this perfect evenin'. And it means the world to me that you think this is perfect. I feel like I have finally made amends for somethin.''

He held her out and looked at her. "It's taken us 16 years to finally get Valentine's Day right, you know. That's a long time. That's probably a record."

"And a lot of crappy February 14th's," she said, pulling his shirt of out his jeans and dipping her fingers below his waistband until she found the tops of his silk boxers. Her mouth covered his and she melted her tongue in the rich taste of chocolate and Fritz. His hands slipped to her lower back and his strong arms pulled her flush against him. She pulled away from his lips and moved to his neck. "If you ask me," she whispered hotly in his ear, "Cupid could use some target practice."

* * *

_**February 15, 2013**_

_**Los Angels, California**_

Fritz ran his hand from between Brenda's naked shoulders, slowly down her back. over the curve he loves so much, and up the slope to her ass, and back down again. Over and over. Brenda was asleep on her stomach, and his caresses didn't seem to disturb her one bit.

He should go to sleep too. It was 2am and he had to work tomorrow. Or today, really. They had spent the evening making love, fueling themselves with chocolate between rounds. Well, Brenda ate most of the chocolate, first their desserts and then she started on the large box he had bought her. He had his fair share, though, most of it eaten slightly melted off of Brenda's aroused skin. It tasted so much better that way.

They had been married for four years now and together for eight, and yet there were nights when he woke up and just watched her sleep, amazed she was in his bed, amazed she was his, still in shock that fate had brought them to this point. He had left Atlanta as low as he had ever been, and his drinking had increased to self-medicate his growing depression. It wasn't until the two DUI's that things finally began to change. He started rehab, and then he got into therapy, and all kinds of black nasties crawled out of him and finally saw the light of day. When he got a chance to take a position in LA he jumped at it, seeing a fresh start as a good thing, a way to finally leave Cindy, and DC, and all the painful memories associated with it, far behind. He loved LA the second he touched down, but despite dating a lot of women, he never found anyone to get serious with. He never forgot Brenda, and he thought that maybe that was part of the problem. _Once you have loved Brenda Leigh Johnson, everyone else just kind of pales in comparison_, he mused as he stroked her back.

He wished he remembered the exact day in June he overheard two other agents talking about the new head of Priority Homicide at the LAPD. When he heard the name "Johnson" and "she" his heart lurched. _There is no way, it can't be._ Then again, Will Pope ended up at the LAPD, didn't he? Fritz got on the phone with the FBI/LAPD liaison, Agent Kendrick. She confirmed that the new Priority Homicide leader was indeed Brenda Leigh Johnson, and after much wheedling on Fritz's part, agreed to allow him to hand-deliver the reports coming from FBI headquarters. In order to secure the name of the hotel she was staying in, Fritz had to promise to take Agent Kendrick out to lunch.

Buying a meal for Agent Kendrick, it turned out, was a very small price to pay. Brenda walked down the stairs in the hotel and time melted away. Fritz was right back in that place where he was smitten with her and her large brain, and again, he felt that energy of hers snake into his own body and shock his heart alive, like a defibulator. _This time, I am not going to let her slip away_, said to himself, determined. Broken dates be damned, he saw though her defense tactics and held on tight. He pushed her, though, when she broke three dates in a row, a veiled threat to vacate her life forced her hand, and he will never forget the feeling of her mouth on his, hot and eager, and he wanted more more more. After all, eight years of foreplay was a long time. Two nights later they went to bed together and it was beyond anything he could have imagined, and he had spent a lot of time fantasizing about being in bed with Brenda. _And oh, the sex keeps getting better and better_, he thought, and he felt his sated body stir at the thought.

Being with her, though, was a roller coaster, full of ups and downs based on Brenda's cases and twists and turns brought on by her mercurial moods. But her loved her, oh he loved her. Jerry told him he was a fool and could do better, other friends told him he was whipped. He ignored them all. Only Fritz knew the incredibly complicated, beautiful woman that was Brenda. So brilliant in her work and yet so lost when it came to her own life. Tough as nails in a murder room but deeply wounded and vulnerable underneath her shell. And she loved him, loved him hard, with a protective fierceness of a mother lion. Others never saw that side of her, only him.

And others haven't seen her struggle to change in the aftermath of bone-stripping horrors in her life. The lawsuit was the least of them, although Will Pope screwing her over-_again_-wore away a thin membrane of trust Brenda had been able to grow back despite his previous abuse of her. She almost got shot, twice. Her father's cancer and resulting abusive behavior, Willie Rae's death (_why did she have to die in our guest room_?) and Philip Stroh. Oh, if he were in that house, Philip Stroh would be rotting in hell for laying a hand on Brenda. Fritz felt his pulse rise at the memory of it all, of receiving Captain Raydor's phone call in the middle of the night in DC, telling him what happened and assuring him that Brenda would be safe at her house until he could get a flight home. _ I came so close to losing her_, the thought making him want to cry. And in the face of all of this, and because of this, Brenda looked at her life and decided she needed to work and become a better person. To focus on the living. To focus on him.

It's been slow going. It was hard for Brenda to transition to a job where she could leave at 6 o'clock, and if she wasn't done with her work, she could bring it home. She was always looking for more to do, was driving the staff hard and treating every small issue as if it were a major crime. Finally the DA himself had to meet with her and rein her in. Once that happened, a very embarrassed Brenda asked Fritz to tell her when she was pushing too hard, and he did, happily. Slowly they developed a routine where they alternated who cooked dinner and actually ate together most evenings around 8PM. He was thrilled to see her every night and to know she was safe. Brenda began to let go of some of her anger at the LAPD and her grief about her mother's death, and, with spending more time together and talking, really talking, she became more open. They were growing closer with each day, more connected, entwined. She was still a conundrum, his complicated, impossible girl, but at least she paid attention to him now.

And tonight...he was blown away. The old Brenda would never have bothered to have done something so elaborate just for him. Hell, in the past he's pretty sure Brenda didn't feel all that bad about what happened that long-ago Valentine's Day. In her mind, any and all sacrifices were worth it for a case. But now she had the ability and introspection to see what bothered her, the sensitivity to see what bothered him, and the consideration to do something about it.

You've come a long way, baby.

He reached over and fingered her earlobe. The earrings looked great on her, large enough to be noticed but not ostentatious. Brenda groaned at his touch and flicked at her ear. He pulled his hand away lest he wake her. _I'm so glad I gave her the earrings_, he thought. _And I'm glad I held onto them. I had faith there would be a good Valentine's in our future_.

He lay down next to her on his side and draped his arm over her back. His sister Claire was a big believer in fate, that everything happened for a reason, and the people in our lives are there for a purpose. He never knew what he thought about that until the day he found out Brenda had moved to LA. Then he started to wonder. He yawned and buried his face in her hair. Maybe Cupid doesn't need to work on his aim, he thought, his mind growing heavy and slow with sleep._ Maybe we needed to go through a lot together as friends before we were ready to fall in love. I needed to sober up and Brenda, well, maybe Brenda, for whatever reason, had to go through a few jerks before she could really appreciate me._

_Just maybe_, crossed his brain as it fell asleep, _Cupid knew just what he was doing all along_.

**END**

_**Did I use enough Angst-B-Gone in this chapter to redeem myself? If so, take a second to review. The longer a story is, the more work went into it. The more work that went into a story, the more feedback is needed. Thanks for hanging in there.**_


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